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" That little ancient miscellanj' entitled The Garland of Goodivill." 
— Bishop Percy. 

"These are out of ballads ! she has all The Garland of Good-Will 
by heart." — Rowley's Match at Midnight, 1633. 

" Thou art the verj' honeycomb of honesty, The Garland of Good- 
WilL"— Ford's Broken Heart, 1633. 











W. D. HAGGARD, Esq., F.S.A. 

Honorary Secretary. 







THOMAS WRIGHT, Esq., M.A., F.S.A., Treasurer. 


Whp:n Bishop Percy's work, tlie Reliques of 
A)tcieiit English Poetry, issued from tlie press, 
the poetry of our country was in a very weak and 
languishing condition ; for whilst the only poetry 
read and appreciated by the learned of the day, 
was that of the philosophic school, the taste of 
the masses was of a still more debased character, 
as amongst them nothing was popular but sickly 
and unnatural pastorals : and thus, between a 
very questionable philosophy of pantheistic ten- 
dency on the one hand, and a mock arcadianism, 
with its accompaniment of Damons, and Delias, 
and Strephons, and sheep and brooks and crooks, 
on the other, nature and truth were lost sight of, 
and the inspiration of the bard had w"ell nigh 
become a thing unknown. 

Percy's great work (great, notwithstanding all 
its omissions, its errors, and its imj)erfections) 
prepared the way for a better state of things, and 
brought about a poetical revolution — a new era 
in our literatui'e, still in progress, and which has 
been adorned by such names as Goldsmith, Gray, 
Collins, Cowper, Crabbe, Campbell, Scott, and 


Wordsworth. All honour, therefore, to the 
memory of Bishop Percy ! While, however, we 
honour the reformer, let us never forget the 
sources of his inspiration, those 

" Sweet poets of the gentle antique line, 
Who made the hue of beauty all eterne, 
And gave earth's melodies a silver turn," 

nor, that one of such minstrel bards was Thomas 
Deloney of Norwich, the author of " that little 
ancient miscellany entitled The Garland of Good- 
Will". Of the biography of Thomas Deloney, or 
Delone, (for we have the name in both forms) little 
is knoA\Ti beyond the few facts collected by Mr. 
Collier ; it would appear that the minstrel was 
a silk Aveaver, who made his poetical debut at Nor- 
wich, about the year 1586, and who continued to 
write and amuse the public until near the time of 
his decease, which occurred in 1600. Our author 
evidently enjoyed no small share of popularity, 
and to which his merits well entitled him ; nor 
was his fame confined to his own order, for even 
the elegant and classic Drayton, in an allusion to 
his " rhyme," designates it " full of state and 
pleasing." Deloney was unquestionably a man of 
talent, and by no means destitute of a certain degree 
of book learning, although his reading was probably 
confined to old English chronicles, metrical and 
prose romances, and fabliaux. He also seems 
to have had some knowledge of the language of 
France. As a writer, if, as wc must acknowledge. 


he sometimes sinks below mediocrity, we cannot 
deny that he frequently gives utterance to bursts 
of genuine poetry, taking far higher flights than 
his contemporaries, E-ichard Johnson of the 
" Goulden Roses", or even Martin Parker, so 
canonical in all that relates to Robin Hood. 
Deloney's works exhibit the faults and excellencies 
of a self-taught man, whose life, there is too great 
reason to fear, was one continued struggle for 
existence, and who often wrote not as fancy 
willed, or the muse dictated, but because author- 
ship) was a worldly affair, an unpoetical matter of 
pounds, shillings, and pence. On no other 
hypothesis could the author of " Fair Rosamond," 
and " The banishment of the two dukes," be the 
author of "^ Shore's wife" ; or covdd the author of 
" The Spanish lady" (a poem which has elicited the 
praises of Wordsworth) be the writer of disgusting 
ballads on the executions of the poor persecuted 
Catholics of his time. Deloney was one of the 
last of England's minstrel bards, and, therefore, 
his publications have ever been in high esteem 
amongst collectors ; of several of these works, a 
list is given by Mr. Collier in his preface to 
Deloney's Strange Histories (Percy Society's 
edition), but the catalogue is incomplete, and we 
believe it may be extended by ascribing to Deloney 
the authorship of '' The Blind Beggar of Bednall 
Green," and " The pleasant and sweet liistory of 
Patient Grissel, &c. ; printed by E. P. for John 


Wright, dwelling in Giltspur Street, at the signe 
of the Bible" (see Percy Society's edition, edited 
by Collier) ; and by also ascribing to Deloney the 
authorship of the " Garland of Good- Will". The 
history of Patient Grissel contains a ballad 
extracted from the '^ Garland of Good- will," being 
the one inserted at page 82 of the present work, 
and of which ballad no earlier edition has been dis- 
covered. It is impossible to state when the Garland 
made its first appearance, but it is presumed about 
the year 1586 : none of the original editions are 
known to exist, though it is not improbable that 
there may be such carefully concealed in the dark 
caverns of some of our literary Domdaniels, who, 
imbued with a true spirit of dog-in-the-mangerism, 
prevent others from tasting the food for which they 
themselves have no relish. The Pepysian black 
letter copy of the Garland is only dated 1678 (just 
seventy-eight years after Deloney 's decease), and 
it is the oldest we have been enabled to consult, 
although we can trace two earlier editions, one of 
1631, and the other of 1659. The edition of 1678 
differs materially from that of 1709 (?), copies of 
which are neither scarce nor valuable, and are to 
be found in the library of the British Museum, 
and in the collections of Mr. James Orchard 
Halliwell, and others. This last-named edition, 
which is " printed for G. Conyers at the sign of 
the Golden ring in Little Britain," is in the form 


of a chap-book of the commonest description, and 
is printed on the coarsest paper, and with the 
vilest type, and abounds in misprints, hiati, and 
typographical blunders. The edition of 1678 
bears internal evidence of being a transcript of the 
original work, and it differs from Conyers' copy 
in a very important particular ; for while in the 
latter are found several poems which are certainly 
not by Deloney, all such interpolations are 
wanting in the earlier impression. These added 
poems are inserted in the following pages, but 
the Editor has distinguished them by asterisks. 
Percy, in selecting from the Garland for the 
Reliques, has, it is clear, made use of the editions 
of 1678 and 1709 ; for he not only gives one of 
the interpolated poems from the latter, but he cor- 
rects the text of the genuine ones by the readings of 
the former, still further correcting that text by his 
celebrated folio MS., and by conjectural emenda- 
tion. (See notes to " Truth and Ignorance", and 
also those to the " Spanish Lady".) In preparing 
our edition of the Garland, we have printed from a 
copy of Conyers' edition, lent for the purpose by 
Mr. Halliwell, but the text has been collated with 
the edition of 1678, and wherever any variation 
has occurred, as for instance in the title-page, and 
in the names of the poems, we have abided by the 
readings of what we must consider as the more 
authoritative copy : indeed the name of the pub- 

lisher of the earlier edition is some guarantee lor 
its correctness ; for John Wright was one of the 
leading booksellers of the age, and not, as some 
have erroneously asserted, a mere publisher of 
ballads and penny histories, like the Marshalls 
and Catnachs of the present century. The vignette 
on our old title-page is found in both editions, 
and the initial letter, at page 1, is copied from 
Conyers ; both of these designs have been en- 
graved by George Anderson, Esq., of De Beauvoir 
Town, by whom they have been presented to the 
Percy Society. 

The Editor intends to follow up the present 
work by a republication of some of the other 
Garlands mentioned, and quoted from, by Percy, 
Evans, and others, tchen he can discover their 
whereabouts f for he has had many an unavailing 
search after them. They are somewhere, but 
where is that somewhere? If any of those 
numerous correspondents, anonymous and other- 
wise, who have favoured the Editor with their 
suggestions and recommendations on the subject 
will be so obliging as to state how he is to reduce 
them to practice, the information a^ ill be very 
thankfully received. It is an easy matter to dress 
your hare, but as good Mrs. Glasse says, " catch 
him first". 

Tollington Villa, Honisey, 
March 1851. 





J3ii)itieti into Cfirce ^ait^ 

containing many 

Pleasant Songs and pretty Poems, 
to snndry new Notes. 

With a Table to find tlie Names of 
all the Songs. 

Written by T. D. 

J. w. 

London : Printed for J. Wright, at the sign of the 
Crown, on Ludgate Hill. 1678. 



1. The Death of the fair Lady Kosamond - - 1 

2. The Lamentation of Shore's Wife - - - U 

3. How King Edgar was deceived of his love - - 12 

4. How Coventry was made free by Godina, Countess of 

Chester - - - - - 18 

5. Of the Duke of Cornwal's Daughter - - 21 

0. A Song of Queen Isabel, Wife to King Edward II - 24 

7. The Banishment of the Dukes of Norfolk and Hereford 30 

8. The noble Acts of Arthur of the Eound Table, and of 

Lancelot du Lake - - - - 38 

9. A Song in Praise of Women - - - 43 

10. A Song in Praise of a Single Life - - - 46 

11. The Widdow's Solace, or Comfort in Distress - 49 

12. A Gentlewoman's Complaint against her faithless Friend 51 

13. How a Prince of England wooed the King's Daughter 

of France, and how she was mamed to a FoiTester r)2 

14. The faithful friendship of two Friends, Alphonso and 

Gonsalo - - - - - 00 


1. A Pastoral Song - - - - C8 

2. The Sinner's Redemption - - - 71 

3. The godly Maid of Padstow's Vision in a Trance - 7(5 

4. Patient Grissell and h noble Marquess - - 82 


5. A Song between Truth and Ignorance - - 89 
fi. The Overthrow of Proud Holofeme?, and tlie Triumph 

of the vertuous Queen Judeth - - - 95 

7. A Song m praise of the Enghsh Rose - - 103 

8. A Communication between Fancy and Desire - 105 


1. A Maiden's Choice 'twixt Age and Youth - - 107 

2. As I came from Walsingham - - - 111 

3. The Winning of Cales - - - - 113 

4. Of King Edward the Third, and the fair Countess of 

Salisbury - - - - - 118 

5. The Spanish Lady's Love to an Englishman - 125 

6. A Eai'ewel to Love . . . . 129 

7. The Lover by his Gifts thinking to conquer Chastity - 130 

8. The Woman's Answer - . - - 131 




All you that are to mirth inclin'cl - - - 71 

Among all other things - - - - 43 

Amongst the i^rincely paragons - - - 103 

A noble marquess as he did ride a-hunting - - 82 

As you came from the holy land - - - 111 

Come hither, shepherd's swain _ . . 105 

Crabbed age and youth - - - - 107 

Faith is a figure standing now for nought - - 51 

Farewell, false love, the oracle of lies - - 129 

Foul is the face whose beauty gold can grace - - 131 

God speed you, ancient father - - - 89 

In stately Kome sometime did dwell - - - 60 

In the days of old - - - - - 52 

Leofricus that noble earl - - . - 18 

Listen, fan- ladies - - - - - 9 

Long had the proud Spaniard _ _ . 113 

Mourn no more, fair widdow - - - 49 

Proud were the Spencers - - - - 24 

Some do write of bloody wars - - - 46 

The mighty Lord that rules in Heaven - - 76 

Two noble dukes of great renown - - - 30 

Upon a down where shepherds keep - - - 68 

What face so fair that is not carkt with gold - - 130 

When Arthur first in court began - - - 38 

When as Edward the Third did hve - - -118 

When as King Edgar did govern this land - - 1:^ 

When as King Henry I'uled this land - - - 1 


"Wlien Humber in liis ^n-athful rage - - - 21 

When King Nebuchadnezzar - - 05 

Will you hear a Spanish lady - - - - 125 

Notes - - - - - - 133 

Remarks on the Tunes - - - - 145 





To the Tune of ^^ Flying Fame". 

HEN as king Henry ruFd this land, 
The second of that name, 
Besides the queen, he dearly lov'd 
A fair and princely dame. 

Most peerless was her beauty found, 

Her favour and her face, 
A sweeter creature in this world. 

Did never prince embrace. 

Her crisped locks like threads of gold 
Appear' d to each man's sight ; 

Her comely eyes like orient pearls, 
Did cast a heavenly light ; 


The blood within her crystal cheeks, 

Did such a colour drive, 
As if the lily and the rose 

For mastership did strive. 

Yea, Rosamond, fair Rosamond, 

Her name was called so, 
To whom dame Eleanor our queen, 

Was known a mortal foe. 

The king, therefore, for her defence 
Against this furious queen, 

At Woodstock builded such a bower. 
The like was never seen : 

Most curiously this bower was built. 
With stone and timber strong, 

An hundred and fifty doors 
Did to this bojver belong ; 

And they so cunningly contriv'd, 
With turnings round about, 

That none but with a clew of thread 
Could enter in or out. 

And for his love and lady's sake. 
That was so fair and bright, 

The keeping of this bower he gave 
Unto a worthy knight. 


But fortune that doth often frown, 

Where she before did smile, 
The king's delight and lady's joy, 

Full soon she did beguile. 

For why ? the king's ungracious son. 

Whom he did high advance. 
Against his father raised wars 

Within the realms of France. 

And yet before our comely king. 

The English land forsook. 
Of Rosamond, that lady fair. 

His last farewell he took. 

O ! Rosamond, the only rose 

That pleaseth best mine eye, 
The fairest rose in all the world 

To feed my fantasie. » 

The flower of mine affected heart. 

Whose sweetness doth excel 
My royal rose a thousand times, 

I bid thee now farewel. 

For I must leave my famous flower, 

My sweetest Rose, a space. 
And cross the seas to famous France, 

Proud rebels to abase. 



But yet, my rose, be sure thou shalt 

My coming shortly see ; 
And in my heart, while hence I am, 

I'll bear my rose with me. 

When Rosamond, that lady fair, 
Did hear the king say so, 

The sorrows of her grieved heart 
Her outward looks did show ; 

And from her clear and crystal eyes, 

Tears gushed out apace. 
Which, like the silver pearled dew, 

Ran down her comely face ; 

Her lips, like to the coral red, 
Did wax both wan and pale, 

And for the sorrow she conceiv'd. 
Her \ital spirits did fail. 

And falling down all in a swound, 
Before king Henry's face. 

Full oft within his princely arms 
Her body he did embrace. 

And twenty times, with watry eyes. 
He kist her tender cheek, 

Until he had reviv'd again 
Her senses mild and meek. 


Why grieves my Rose, my sweetest Rose ? 

The king did often say : 
Because, quoth she, to bloody wars 

My lord must part away ; 

But since your grace, in foreign coasts, 

Among your foes unkind, 
Must go to hazard life and limb. 

Why should I stay behind ? 

Nay, rather let me, like a page, 

Thy sword and target bear, 
That on my breast the blow may light 

That should offend you there. 

O ! let me in your royal tent 

Prepare your bed at night. 
And with sWeet baths refresh yovir grace, 

At your return from fight. 

So I your presence may enjoy, 

No toil I mil refuse ; 
But wanting you my life is death, 

Which doth true love abuse. 

Content thyself, my dearest love. 

Thy rest at home shall be, 
In England's sweet and pleasant soil, 

For travel fits not thee. 


Fair ladies brook not bloody wars, 
Sweet peace their pleasures breed ; 

The nourisher of heart's content, 
Which fancy first did feed. 

My rose shall rest in Woodstock bower, 
With music's sweet delight; 

While I among the piercing pikes 
Against my foes do fight. 

My rose, in robes of pearl and gold. 
With diamonds richly dight. 

Shall dance the galliard of my love, 
While I my foes do smite. 

And you, Sir Thomas, whom I trust 

To be my love's defence, 
Be careful of my royal rose, 

When I am parted hence. 

And therewithal he fetched a sigh, 
As though his heart would break ; 

And Rosamond, for very grief, 
Not one plain word could speak. 

And at their parting, well they might 

In heart be grieved sore ; 
After that day, fair Rosamond 

The king did see no more. 


And when his grace had past the seas, 
And into France had gone ; 

Queen Eleanor, with envious heart, 
To Woodstock came anon. 

And forth she call'd this trusty knight. 
Who kept this curious bower ; 

Who, with this clew of twined thread, 
Came from this famous flower. 

And when that she had wounded him, 
The queen his thread did get ; 

And went where lady Rosamond 
Was like an angel set. 

But when the queen with steadfast eye 

Beheld her heavenly face. 
She was amazed in her mind, 

At her exceeding grace. 

Cast off thy robes from thee, she said, 

That rich and costly be ; 
And druik thou up this deadly draught. 

Which I have brought for thee. 

But presently upon her knee 

Sweet Rosamond did fall. 
And pardon of the queen she crav'd 

For her offences all. 


Take pity on my youthful years, 

Fair Rosamond did cry ; 
And let me not with poison strong 

Enforced be to die. 

I will renounce this sinful life, 

And in a cloyster 'bide ; 
Or else be banish' d, if you please, 

To range the world so Avide. 

And for that fault which I have done, 
Though I was forc'd thereto, 

Preserve my life, and punish me 
As you think good to do. 

And with these words her lilly hands 
She wrung full often there ; 

And do^vn along her comely face 
Proceeded many a tear. 

But nothing could this furious queen 

Therewith appeased be ; 
The cup of deadly poison fill'd, 

As she sat on her knee. 

She gave this comely dame to drink. 

Who took it in her hand ; 
And from her bended knee arose, 

And on her feet did stand : 


And casting up her eyes to heaven, 

She did for mercy call ; 
And drinking up the poison strong, 

Her life she lost withal. 

And when that death through every limb 

Had done her greatest spite, 
Her chiefest foes did plain confess 

She was a glorious wight. 

Her body then they did entomb, 

When life was fled away ; 
At Woodstock, near to Oxford town, 

As may be seen this day. 



To the Tune of " The Hunt is up". 

Listen, fair ladies, 
Unto my miseries. 
That lived late in pomp and state most delightfully ; 
And now to fortune's fair dissimulation. 

Brought in cruel and uncouth plagues most piteously. 

Shore's wife I am, 
So known by name ; 


And at the Flower-de-luce, in Cheapside, was my 
dwelling ; 
The only daughter of a wealthy merchant man, 
Against whose counsel I was evermore rebelling. 

Young was I loved ; 

No action moved 
My heart or mind, to give or yield to their consenting, 
My parent's thinking strictly for to wed me. 

Forcing me to take that which caused my repenting. 

Then being wedded, 

I was quickly tempted ; 
My beauty caused many gallants to salute me. 
The king commanded, and I straight obeyed ; 
For his chief est jewel then he did repute me. 

Bravely was I trained, 

Like a queen I reigned, 
And poor men's suits by me were obtained. 
In all the court, to none was such great resort, 
As unto me, though now in scorn I be disdained. 

When the king died. 
My grief was tried ; 
From the court I was expelled with despight. 
The duke of Gloucester, being lord protector, 
Took away my goods against all law and right. 

And a procession. 
For my transgression, 


Bare-footed he made me go for to shame me ; 
A cross before me there was carried plainly, 
As a penance to my former life for to tame me. 

Then through London, 

Being thus undone, 
The lord protector published a proclamation, 
On pain of death I should not be harbour' d ; 

Which furthermore encreas'd my sorrow and vexation. 

I that had plenty, 

And dishes dainty, 
Most sumptuously brought to my board at my pleasure ; 
Being full poor, from door to door 

I beg my bread with clack and dish at my leisure. 

My rich attire. 
By fortune's ire, 
To rotten rags and nakedness they are beaten. 
My body soft, which the king embraced oft. 
With vermin vile annoy' d and eat on. 

On stalls and stones, 

Did lie my bones. 
That wonted was in bed of down to be placed : 
And you see my finest pillows be 

Of stinking straw, with dirt and dung thus disgraced. 

Wherefore, fair ladies. 
With your sweet babies, 


My grievous fall bear in your mind, and behold me 
How strange a thing, that the love of a king 
Should come to die under a stall, as I told ye. 



To the Tune of " Labandulishot". 

When as king Edgar did govern this land, 
Adown, adown, down, do-svn, down, 

And in the strength of his years he did stand. 
Call him down-a ; 

Such praise was spread of a gallant dame. 

Which did through England carry great fame ; 

And she a lady of high degree. 

The earl of Devonshire's daughter was she. 

The king, which lately had bury'd the queen, 

And not long time a widower been, 

Hearing this praise of a gallant maid. 

Upon her beauty his love he laid ; 

And in his mind he would often say, 

I will send for that lady gay ; 

Yea, I will send for this lady bright, 

Which is my treasure and delight ; 

Whose beauty, like to Phoebus' beams. 


Doth glitter through all christian realms. 

Then to himself he would reply ; 

Saying, how fond a prince am I, 

To cast my love so base and low, 

Upon a girl I do not know ! 

King Edgar will his fancy frame 

To love some peerless princely dame, 

The daughter of a royal king, 

That may a dainty dowry bring : 

Whose matchless beauty, brought in place, 

May Estrild's colour clean disgrace. 

But, senseless man, what do I mean. 

Upon a broken reed to lean ? 

Or what fond fury did me move. 

Thus to abuse my dearest love ? 

Whose visage, grac'd with heavenly hue. 

Doth Ellen's honour quite subdue. 

The glory of her beauteous pride. 

Sweet Estrild's father doth deride. 

Then pardon my unseemly speech, 

Dear love and lady, I beseech, 

For I my thoughts will henceforth frame, 

To spread the honour of thy name. 

Then unto him he call'd a knight. 

Which was most trusty in his sight. 

And unto him thus did he say. 

To earl Orgator, Go thy way. 

Where ask for Estrild, comely dame. 

Whose beauty went so far by fame ; 

And if you find her comely grace. 


As fame did spread in every place ; 

Then tell her father she shall be 

My crowned queen, if she agree. 

The knight in message did proceed, 

And into Devonshire went with speed ; 

But when he saw the lady bright, 

He was so ravisht at her sight, 

That nothing could his passion move. 

Except he might obtain her love. 

For day and night while there he staid, 

He courted still this peerless maid ; 

And in his suit he shew'd such skill, 

That at the length he gain'd her good- will 

Forgetting quite the duty tho' 

Which he unto the king did owe. 

Then coming home unto his grace. 

He told him with dissembling face, 

That those reporters were to blame. 

That so ad vane' d the maiden's name : 

For I assure your grace, said he, 

She is as other women be ; 

Her beauty, of such great report, 

No better than the common sort ; 

And far unmeet in every thing. 

To match with such a noble king. 

But though her face be nothing fair, 

Yet sith she is her father's heir. 

Perhaps some lord of high degree 

Would very fain her husband be. 

Then if your grace would give consent, 


I would myself be well content 

The damsel for my wife to take, 

For her great lands' and livings' sake. 

The king, whom thus he did deceive, 

Incontinent did give him leave ; 

For on this point he did not stand ; 

For why ? he had not need of land. 

Then being glad he went away, 

And wedded straight this lady gay. 

The fairest creature bearing life. 

Had this false knight unto his wife ; 

And by that match of high degree, 

An earl soon after that was he. 

Ere he long time had married been. 

That many had her beauty seen, 

Her praise was spread both far and near ; 

The king again thereof did hear ; 

Who then in heart did plainly prove 

He was betrayed of his love : 

Though, therefore, he was vexed sore. 

Yet seem'd he not to grieve therefore ; 

But kept his count' nance good and kind, 

As though he bore no grudge in mind. 

But on a day it came to pass. 

When as the king full merry was. 

To Ethelwold in sport, he said, 

I muse what chear there should be made. 

If to thy house I should resort 

A night or two for princely sport ? 

Hereat the earl shew'd count' nance glad, 


Though in his heart he was full sad ; 
Saying, your grace shall welcome be, 
If so your grace will honour me. 
Then as the day appointed was, 
Before the king did thither pass, 
The earl before hand did prepare 
The king his coming to declare. 
And with a count'nance passing grim, 
He call'd his lady unto him ; 
Saying, with sad and heavy cheer, 
I pray you, when the king comes here, 
Sweet lady, as you tender me, 
Let your attire but homely be ; 
Nor wash not thou thy angel's face, 
But so thy beauty clean disgrace ; 
Thereto thy gesture so apply, 
It may seem loathsome to the eye. 
For if the king should there behold 
Thy glorious beauty so extoll'd, 
Then shall my life soon shorten' d be, 
For my deserts and treachery. 
When to thy father first I came, 
Though I did not declare the same. 
Yet was I put in trust to bring 
The joyful tidings to the king; 
AVho, for thy glorious beauty seen, 
Did think of thee to make his queen. 
But when I had thy person found, 
Thy beauty gave me such a wound. 
No rest nor comfort could I take. 


Till you, sweet love, my grief did slake ; 
And tho' that duty charged me, 
Most faithful to my lord to be, 
Yet love, upon the other side. 
Bid for my self I should provide. 
Then for my suit and service shown. 
At length I won you for my own : 
And for my love in wedlock spent. 
Your choice you need no whit repent : 
Then since my grief I have expresst. 
Sweet lady, grant me my request. 
Good words she gave with smiling chear. 
Musing of that which she did hear ; 
And casting many things in mind. 
Great fault therewith she seem'd to find; 
But in her self she thought it shame. 
To make that foul which God did frame. 
Most costly robes full rich therefore, 
In bravest sort that day she wore ; 
Doing all that e'er she might. 
To set her beauty forth to sight : 
And her best skill in every thing 
She shew'd to entertain the king. 
Wherefore the king so 'snared was. 
That reason quite from him did pass : 
His heart by her was set on fire, 
He had to her a great desire ; 
And for the looks he gave her then, 
For every look she shew'd him ten. 
Wherefore the king perceived plain. 


His love and looks were not in vain. 

Upon a time it chanced so, 

The king he would a hunting go ; 

And as they through a wood did ride, 

The earl on horse-back by his side, 

For so the story telleth plain, 

That ■\\dth a shaft the earl was slain. 

So that when he had lost his life. 

He took the lady unto wife ; 

Who married her, all harm to shun, 

By whom he did beget a son. 

Thus he that did the king deceive, 

Did by desert his death receive : 

Then to conclude and make an end, 

Be true and faithful to thy friend. 



To the Tune of " Prince Artlmr died at Ludlow", &c. 

LEomiciJS, that noble earl 

Of Chester, as I read, 
Did for the city of Coventry 

Many a noble deed. 

Great pri\ileges for the to^\^l 

This noble man did get ; 
And of all things did make it so, 

That they toll-free did sit. 


Save only that for horses still 

They did some custom pay, 
Which was great charges to the town, 

Full long and many a day. 

Wherefore his wife Godina fair, 

Did of the earl request. 
That therefore he would make it free, 

As well as all the rest. 

So when that she long time had sued, 

Her purpose to obtain, 
Her noble lord at length she took 

Within a pleasant vein : 

And unto him with smiling chear, 

She did forthmth proceed, 
Entreating greatly that he would 

Perform that goodly deed. 

You move me much, my fair, quoth he, 

Your suit I fain would shun ; 
But what will you perform and do. 

To have this matter done ? 

Why any thing, my lord (quoth she), 

You will with reason crave ; 
I will perform it with good will, 

If I my wish might have. 



If thou wilt grant the thing, he said, 

What I shall now require, 
As soon as it is finished, 

Thou shalt have thy desire. 

Command what you think good, my lord, 

I will thereto agree, 
On this condition : that the town 

For ever may be free. 

If thou mlt thy cloaths strip off,* 
And hereby lay them down. 

And at noon- day on horse-back ride 
Stark naked through the town. 

They shall be free for evermore : 

If thou mlt not do so. 
More liberty than now they have 

I never will bestow. 

The lady at this strange demand, 
"Was much abasht in mind ; 

And yet for to fiiliil this thing. 
She never a whit repin'd. 

Wherefore unto all officers 

Of the town she sent. 
That they perceiving her good wiU, 

"\ATiich for the weal Avas bent ; 


That on the day that she should ride, 

All persons through the town, 
Should keep their houses, shut their doors, 

And clap their windows down ; 

So that no creature, young or old. 

Should in the streets be seen, 
Till she had ridden all about. 

Throughout the city clean. 

And when the day of riding came, 

No person did her see. 
Saving her lord ; after Avhich time, 

The town was ever free. 



To the Tune of " In Greece ". 

When Humber, in his wrathful rage, 
King Albanack in field had slain ; 

Whose bloody broils for to asswage, 
King Locrin then apply' d his pain; 

And with a host of Britons stout. 

At length he found king Humber out. 

At vantage great he met him then, 

And with his host beset him so, 
That he destroy' d his warlike men, 

And Humber' s power did overthrow ; 


And Humber, which for fear did fly, 
Leapt into a river desp'rately : 

And being drowned in the deep, 

He left a lady there alive, 
^^^lich sadly did lament and weep, 

For fear they should her life deprive. 
But by her face, that was so fair, 
The king was caught in Cupid's snare. 

He took this lady to his love, 
Who secretly did keep it still, 

So that the queen did quickly prove 
The king did bear her much good- will. 

"Which though by wedlock late begun. 

He had by her a gallant son. 

Queen Guendoline was griev'd in mind 
To see the king was alter' d so ; 

At length the cause she chanc'd to find, 
"Which brought her to most bitter woe. 

For Estrild was his joy (God wot). 

By whom a daughter he begot. 

The duke of Cornwal being dead. 
The father of that gallant queen. 

The king Avith lust being overlaid. 
His laAvful wife he cast off clean : 

Who, with her dear and tender son, 

For succour did in Cornwal run. 


Then Locrin crowned Estrild bright, 

And made of her his lawful wife ; 
With her, which was his heart's delight. 

He sweetly thought to lead his life. 
Thus Guendoline, as one forlorn, 
Did hold her wretched life in scorn. 

But when the Cornish men did know 

The great abuse she did endure, 
With her a nimiber great did go. 

Which she by prayer did procure. 
In battel then they marcht along. 
For to redress this grievous wrong ; 

And near a river called Store, 

The king mth all his host she met ; 

Where both the armies fought full sore, 
But yet the queen the field did get. 

Yet ere they did the conquest gain, 

The king was with an arrow slain. 

Then Guendoline did take in hand. 

Until her son was come to age. 
The government of all the land. 

But first her fury to asswage. 
She did command her soldiers wild, 
To drown both Estrild and her child. 

Incontinent then did they bring 
Fair Estrild to the river side, 


And Sabrine, daughter to a king, 

"V^-Tiom Guendoline could not abide : 
Who, being bound together fast. 
Into the river there were cast : 

And ever since, that running stream, 
Wherein the ladies drowned were, 

Is called Savem through the realm, 
Because that Sabrine died there. 

Thus those that did to lewdness bend. 

Were brought unto a woful end. 



Proud were the Spencers, and of condition ill. 

All England, and the king like^wdse, they ruled at their 

wHl : 
And many lords and nobles of the land. 
Through their occasions lost their lives, and none did 

them withstand. 

And at the last they did encrease much grief. 
Between the king and Isabel, his queen and faithful 

So that her life she dreaded wondrous sore, 
And cast within her secret thoughts some present help 



Then she requests, with count' nance grave and sage, 
That she to Thomas Becket's tomb might go on 

pilgrimage ; 
Then being joyful to have that happy chance. 
Her son and she took ships with speed, and sailed into 


And royally she was received then 

By the king and all the rest of peers and noblemen ; 

And unto him at last she did express 

The cause of her arrival there, her cause and heaviness. 

When as her brother her grief did understand. 

He gave her leave to gather men throughout this 

famous land ; 
And made a promise to aid her evermore. 
As often as she should stand in need of gold and silver 


But when indeed she did require the same, 
He was as far from doing it as when she thither came ; 
And did proclaim, whilst matters were so seen, 
That none, on pain of death, should go to aid the 
English queen. 

This alteration did greatly grieve the queen. 

That down along her comely face the bitter tears were 

When she perceiv'd her friends forsook her so. 
She knew not for her safety which way to turn or go. 


But through good hap, at last she then decreed 

To seek in fruitful Germany some succoui- to this need : 

And to Sir John Hainault then went she, 

Who entertain' d this woeful queen with great solemnity. 

And ^\dth great sorrow to him she then complain' d, 
Of all her griefs and injuries which she of late sustain'd. 
So that with weeping she dimm'd her princely sight, 
The cause whereof did greatly grieve that noble 
courteous knight ; 

Who made an oath he would her champion be. 

And in her quarrel spend his blood, from ^\Tong to set 

her free ; 
And all my friends, with whom I may prevail. 
Shall help for to advance your state, whose truth no 

time shall fail. 

And in his promise most faithful he was found. 

And many lords of great account were in his voyage 

So setting forward with a goodly train. 
At length, through God's especial grace, into England 

they came. 

At Harwich then, when they were ashore, 

Uf English lords and barons bold there came to her 

great store ; 
Which did rejoice the queen's afflicted heart. 
That English lords in such sort came for to take her 



When as king Edward thereof did understand, 

How that the queen with such a power was enter' d on 

his land; 
And how his nobles were gone to take her part, 
He fled from London presently, even Avith a heavy 


And with the Spencers unto Bristol did go, 
To fortifie that gallant town great cost he did bestow ; 
Leaving behind, to govern London to^Mi, 
The stout bishop of Exeter, whose pride was soon 
pull'd down. 

The Mayor of London, with citizens great store. 

The bishop, and the Spencers both, in heart they did 

abhor ; 
Therefore they took him mthout fear or dread. 
And at the Standard, in Cheapside, they smote off his 


Unto the queen this message then they sent. 
The city of London was at her commandement. 
Wherefore the queen, with all her company, 
Did strait to Bristol march amain, whereat the king did 

Then she besieged the city round about, 

Threatning sharp and cruel death to those that were so 

stout ; 
Wherefore the townsmen, their children, and their 



Did yield the city to the queen, for safeguard of their 

Where was took, the story plain doth tell. 
Sir Hugh Spencer, and with him the Earl of Arundel. 
This judgment just, the nobles did set down ; 
They should be drawn and hanged, both, in sight of 
Bristol town. 

Then was king Edward in the castle there. 

And Hugh Spencer still with him, in dread and deadly 

fear ; 
And being prepar'd from thence to sail away. 
The winds were found contrary, they were enforc'd to 


But at last Sir John Beaumont, knight. 

Did bring his sailing ship to shore, and so did stay 

theii* flight. 
And so these men were taken speedily 
And brought as prisoners to the queen who did in Bristol 


The queen, by counsel of the lords and barons bold, 
To Barkley sent the king, there to be kept in hold : 
And young Hugh Spencer, that did much ill procure. 
Was to the marshal of the host sent unto keeping siu'e. 

And then the queen to Hereford took her way. 

With all her warlike company, which late in Bristol lay : 


And here behold how Spencer was, 
From town to town, even as the queen to Hereford did 
pass : 

Upon a jade, which they by chance had found. 
Young Spencer mounted was, with legs and hands fast 

bound : 
A -writing paper along as he did go, 
Upon his head he had to wear, which did his treason 


And to deride this traytor lewd and ill, 
Certain men with reeden pipes, did blow before him still ; 
Thus was he led along in every place, 
While many people did rejoyce, to see his strange 

When unto Hereford our noble queen was come, 

She did assemble all the lords and knights, both all 

and some ; 
And in their presence young Spencer judgment had. 
To be both hang'd and quartered, his treasons were so 


Then was the king deposed of his crown, 

From rule, and princely dignity, the lords did cast him 

And in his life, his son both wise and sage. 
Was crown' d king of fair England, at fifteen years of 





Two noble dukes of great renown, 

That long had liv'd in fame, 
Through hateful envy were cast down, 

And brought to sudden shame. 

The duke of Hereford was the one, 

A prudent prince and wise, 
'Gainst whom such malice there was shown, 

Which soon in fight did rise. 

The duke of Norfolk, most untrue, 

Declar'd unto the king. 
The duke of Hereford greatly grew 

In hatred of each thing. 

Which by his grace was acted still, 

Against both high and low ; 
How he had a trait'rous will 

His state to overthrow. 

The duke of Hereford, then in haste. 

Was sent for to the king ; 
And by the lords in order plac'd, 

Examin'd of each thing. 


Who being guiltless of this crime, 

Which was against him laid, 
The duke of Norfolk at that time. 

These words unto him said : 

How canst thou, with a shameless face. 

Deny a truth so stout ; 
And here before his royal grace. 

So falsly face it out ? 

Did not these wicked treasons pass, 

When we together were, 
How that the king unworthy was. 

The royal croAvn to bear ? 

Wherefore, my gracious lord, quoth he. 

And you his noble peers. 
To whom I wish long life to be. 

With many happy years ; 

I do pronounce before you all. 

This treacherous lord that's here ; 
A traytor to our noble king. 

As time shall shew it clear. 

The duke of Hereford hearing that, 

In mind was grieved much, 
And did return this answer flat. 

Which did duke Norfolk touch. 


The term of traytor, truthless duke, 
In scorn and great disdam, 

With flat defiance to thy face 
I do return again. 

And therefore, if it please your grace 
To grant me leave, quoth he, 

To combate with my unknown foe 
That here accuseth me ; 

I do not doubt, but plainly prove, 
That like a perjured knight. 

He hath most falsly sought my shame. 
Against all truth and right. 

The king did grant this just request, 

And did therewith agree, 
At Coventry, in August next, 

This combate fought should be. 

The dukes on sturdy steeds full stout, 
In coats of steel most bright. 

With spears in rests, did enter lists. 
This combate fierce to fight. 

The king then cast his warder down. 
Commanding them to stay ; 

And vdth his lords he counsel took, 
To stint that mortal fray. 


At length unto these noble dukes 

The king of heraulds came, 
And unto them with lofty speech 

This sentence did proclaim : 

Sir Henry Bullenbrook, this day, 

The duke of Hereford here, 
And Thomas Mauberry, Norfolk duke, 

So valiantly did appear ; 

And having, in honourable sort. 

Repaired to this place, 
Our noble king, for special cause, 

Had alter' d thus the case. 

First, Henry, duke of Hereford, 

Ere fifteen days be past. 
Shall part the realm on pain of death. 

While ten years' space doth last. 

And Thomas, duke of Norfolk now, 

That hath begun this strife. 
And thereof no good proof can bring, 

I say for term of life ; 

By judgment of our soveraign lord, 

^^Tiich now in place doth stand. 
For evermore I banish thee 

Out of thy native land. 



Charging thee, on pam of death, 

When fifteen days are past, 
Thou never tread on English ground 

So long as life doth last. 

Thus they were sworn before the king. 

Ere they did further pass, 
The one should never come in place, 

Where as the other was. 

Then both the dukes, with heavy hearts, 

Were parted presently. 
The uncouth streams of froward chance, 

Of foreign lands to try. 

The duke of Norfolk coming then. 
Where he would shipping take, 

The bitter tears ran down his cheeks, 
And thus his moan did make : 

Now let me sigh and sob my fill, 

Ere I from hence depart. 
That inward pangs with speed may burst 

My sore afflicted heart. 

Oh cursed man ! whose loathed life 

Is held so much in scorn, 
Whose company is clean despis'd, 

And left as one forlorn. 


Now take thy leave and last adieu 

Of this thy country dear, 
Which never more thou must behold, 

Nor yet approach it near. 

Happy should I account my self, 

If death my heart had torn ; 
That I might have my bones entomb' d 

Where I was bred and born. 

Or that by Neptune's wrathful rage, 

I might be prest to die. 
Whilst that sweet England's pleasant banks 

Did stand before mine eye. 

How sweet a scent hath English ground 

Within my senses now ! 
How fair unto my outward sight 

Seem every branch and bough ! 

The fields and flowers, the streets and stones, 

Seem such unto my mind. 
That in all other countries sure 

The like I ne'er shall find. 

O ! that the sun, with shining face. 

Would stay his steed by strength. 
That this same day might stretched be 

To twenty years in length ; 

D 2 


And that the true-performing tyde 
Her hasty course would stay ; 

That Eolus would never yield 
To bear me hence away. 

That by the fountain of my eyes 
The fields might water' d be ; 

That I might grave my grievous plaint 
Upon each springing tree. 

But time, I see, ^\dth eagle's wings, 

So swift doth fly away, 
And dusky clouds begin to dim 

The brightness of the day. 

The fatal hour draweth on. 
The winds and tydes agree ; 

And now, sweet England, oversoon, 
I must depart from thee. 

The mariners have hoised sail. 

And call to catch me in ; 
And now in woeful heart I feel 

My torments to begin. 

Wherefore, farewel for evermore. 

Sweet England, unto thee ; 
But farewel, all my friends, which I 
Again shall never see. 


And, England, here I kiss thy ground. 

Upon my bended knee, 
AVhereby to shew to all the world 

How dearly I love thee. 

This being said, away he went. 

As fortune did him guide : 
And at the length with grief of heart 

In Venice there he dy'd. 

The noble duke in doleful sort 

Did lead his life in France ; 
And at the last the mighty lord 

Did him full high advance. 

The lords of England afterwards 

Did send for him again ; 
While that king Richard at the wars 

In Ireland did remain. 

Who, by the vile and great abuse, 
Which through his deeds did spring. 

Deposed was ; and then the duke 
Was truly crowned king. 




To the Tune of " Flying Fame". 

When Arthur first in court began, 

And was approved king, 
By force of arms great victories won, 

And conquests home did bring ; 

Then into Britain straight he came, 

Where fifty good and able 
Knights then repaired unto him, 

Which were of the Round Table ; 

And many justs and tournaments 

Before them there were drest. 
Where valiant knights did then excel, 

And far surmount the rest. 

But one Sir Lancelot du Lake, 

Who was approved well. 
He in his fights and deeds of arms, 

All others did excel. 

When he had rested him a Avhile, 

To play, to game, and sport, 
He thought he would go try himself, 

In some adven'trous sort. 


He armed rode in forest wide, 

And met a damsel fair, 
AVho told him of adventures great, 

Whereto he gave good ear. 

Why should I not ? quoth Lancelot, tho' 

For that cause I came hither. 
Thou seem'st, quoth she, a goodly knight, 

And I will bring thee thither. 

Whereas the mighty knight doth dwell, 

That now is of great fame ; 
Therefore tell me what knight thou art, 

And then what is your name ? 

My name is JL<ancelot du Lake. 

Quoth she, it likes me than ; 
Here dwells a knight that never was 

E'er match' d with any man ; 

Who has in prison threescore knights, 

And four that he has bound ; 
Knights of king Arthur's court they be. 

And of his Table Eound. 

She brought him to a river side. 

And also to a tree. 
Whereon a copper bason hung. 

His fellow shields to see. 


He struck so hard, the bason broke : 
When Tarquin heard the sound, 

He drove a horse before him straight, 
Whereon a knight lay bound. 

Sir knight, then said Sir Lancelot, 
Bring me that horse-load hither. 

And lay him doAvn, and let him rest ; 
We'll try our force together. 

' And as I understand thou hast. 
So far as thou art able. 
Done great despite and shame unto 
The knights of the Round Table. 

If thou be of the Table Round, 

(Quoth Tarquin, speedilye), 
Both thee and all thy fellowship 

I utterly defie. 

That's overmuch, quoth Lancelot though ; 

Defend thee by and by. 
They put their spurs unto their steeds. 

And each at other fly. 

They coucht their spears, and horses ran, 
As though there had been thunder : 

And each struck them amidst the shield. 
Wherewith thev broke in sunder. 


Their horses' backs brake under them, 

The knights were both astound ; 
To 'void theu' horses, they made great haste 

To light upon the ground. 

They took them to their shields full fast, 

Their swords they drew out than ; 
With mighty strokes most eagerly 

Each one at other ran. 

They wounded were, and bled full sore, 

For breath they both did stand, 
And leaning on their swords awhile. 

Quoth Tarquin, Hold thy hand ! 

And tell to me what I shall ask : 

Say on, quoth Lancelot though ; 
Thou art, quoth Tarquin, the best knight 

That ever I did know, 

And like a knight that I did hate ; 

So that thou be not he, 
I will deliver all the rest. 

And eke accord with thee. 

That is well said, quoth Lancelot, then. 

But sith it must be so, 
What is the knight thou hatest so, 

I pray thee to me show r 


His name is Lancelot du Lake, 

H e slew my brother dear ; 
Him I suspect of all the rest ; 

I would I had him here. 

Thy wish thou hast, but yet unknown ; 

I am Lancelot du Lake ! 
Now knight of Arthur's Table Round, 

Kind Hand's son of Seuwake ; 

And I desire thee do thy worst : 
Ho ! ho ! quoth Tarquin though, 

One of us two shall end our lives 
Before that we do go. 

If thou be Lancelot du Lake, 
Then welcome shalt thou be ; 

Wherefore see thou thyself defend. 
For now defie I thee. 

They buckled then together so, 

Like two wild boars rashing. 
And, with their swords and shields they ran 

At one another flashing. 

The ground besprinkled was with blood, 

Tarquin began to faint ; 
For he gave back, and bore his shield, 

So low, he did repent. 


This soon 'spied Sir Lancelot though, 

He leapt upon him then, 
He pulFd him down upon his knee. 

And, rushing off his helm, 

And then he struck his neck in two ; 

And when he had done so, 
From prison, threescore knights and four 

Lancelot delivered though. 


To a pleasant new Tune, called, " My Valentine". 

Among all other things 

That God hath made beneath the sky. 
Most glorious to satisfie the curious eye 

Of mortal men withal. 

The sight of Eve, 

Did soonest fit his fancy ; 
Whose courtesie and amity most speedily 

Had caught his heart in thrall ; 

Whom he did love so dear, 

As plainly doth appear, 
He made her queen of all the world, and mistress of 

his heart ; 
Tho' afterwards she wrought his woe, his death 
and deadlv smart. 


What need I speak 

Of matters passed long ago ? 
Which all men know I need not show, to high or low, 

The case it is so plain : 

Altho' that Eve 

Committed then so great offence, 
Ere she went hence, a recompence, in defence, 

She made mankind again : 

For by her blessed seed. 

We are redeem' d indeed. 
Why should not then all mortal men esteem of 

women well ? 
And love their wives, even as their lives, as nature 
doth compel r 

A virtuous wife 

The scripture doth commend ; and say, 
That night and day, she is a stay from all decay, 

To keep her husband still ; 

She useth not 

To give herself a wandring. 
Or flattering, or prattling, or any thing 

To do her neighbour ill ; 

But all her mind is bent, 

His pleasure to content ; 
Her faithful love doth not remove for any storm or 

Then is he not well blest, think ye, that meets with 
such a wife ? 


But now metliinks 

I hear some men do say to me, 
Few such there be, in each degree and quality 

At this day to be found ; 

And now-a-days 

Some men do set their whole delight. 
Both day and night, with all despite, to brawl and 

Their rage doth so abound : 

But sure I think and say, 

Here comes no such to day ; 
Nor do I know of any she, that is within this place. 
And yet for fear, I dare not swear, it is so hard a 

But to conclude ; 

For maids, and wives, and virgins all, 
Both great or small, in bower or hall, to pray I shall. 

So long as life doth last, 

That they may live, 

With heart's content, and perfect peace, 
That joy's increase may never cease, till death 

The care that crept so fast : 

For beauty doth me bind. 

To have them all in mind ; 
Even for her sake, that doth us make so merry to be 

The glory of the female kind, I mean our noble 




To the Time of " The Ghost's Hearse". 

Some do write of bloody wars, 

Some do shew the several jars 
'Twixt men, through envy raised; 

Some in praise of princes write, 

Some set their whole delight 
To hear fair beauty blazed : 

Some other persons are moved 

For to praise where they are loved : 

And let lovers praise beauty as they will, 
Otherways I am intended : 

True love is little regarded. 

And often goes unrewarded : 

Then to avoid all strife, 

I'll resolve to lead a single life, 
Whereby the heart is not offended. 

O what a suit and service too 
Is used by them that woo ! 
O what grief in heart and mind, 
What sorrow we do find, 
Through woman's fond behaviour ! 
Subject to suffer each hour, 
And speeches sharp and sour, 
And labour, love, and cost. 
Perchance 'tis but all lost, 


And no way to be amended ; 
And so purchase pleasiu-e, 
And after repent at leisure. 
Then to avoid all strife, &c. 

To man in wedded state, 

Doth happen much debate, 
Except by God's special favour; 

If his mfe be proudly bent, 

Or secretly consent 
To any lewd behaviour : 

If she be slothful or idle. 

Or such as her tongue cannot bridle, 

Oh ! then well were he. 

If death his bane would be ; 
No sorrow else can be amended ; 

For look how long he were living, 

Evermore he would be grieving. 
Then to avoid all strife, &c. 

Married folks we often hear, 
Even through their children dear. 

Have many causes of sorrows. 
If disobedient they be found, 
Or false in any ground, 

By their unlaA\'ful forays ; 

To see such wicked fellows. 
Shamefully come unto the gallows, 
WHiom parents with great care. 
Nourished with dainty fare, 


From their birth truly tended ; 

When as their mothers before them, 
Do curse the day that e'er they bore them 
Then to avoid all strife, &c. 

Do we then behold and see, 

When men and mves agree^ 
And live together, 

Where the Lord hath sent them eke 

Fair children mild and meek, 
Like flowers in summer weather; 

How greatly are they grieved, 

And will not by joy be relieved ; 

If that death doth call, 

Either wife or children small, 
AVhom their virtues do commend ; 

Their losses whom they thus loved, 

From their hearts cannot be moved. 
Then to avoid all strife, &c. 

Who being in that happy state, 

Woidd work himself such hate, 
His fancy for to follow ? 

Or, living here devoid of strife. 

Would take to him a wife. 
For to procure his sorrow ? 

With carping and with caring, 

Evermore must be sparing ; 

Were he not worse than mad. 

Being merry, would be sad ? 


Were he to be commended, 

That e'er would seek much pleasure, 
Where grief is all his treasure ? 
Then to avoid all strife, &c. 



To the Tune of " Robinson Almain."' 

Mourn no more, fair widdow, 

Thy tears are all in vain ; 
'Tis neither grief nor sorrow, 

Can call the dead again : 
Man's well enough compared 

Unto the summer's flower, 
Which now is fair and pleasant. 

Yet withereth in an hour : 
And mourn no more in vain, 

As one whose faith is small ; 
Be patient in affliction. 

And give God thanks for all. 

All men are born to die, 

The scripture telleth plain : 
Of earth we were created, 

To earth we must again ; 
'Twas not Croesus' treasure, 

Nor Alexander's fame, 



Nor Solomon by wisdom, 

That could death's fury tame ; 

No physick might preserve them, 
When nature did decay ; 

What man can hold fur ever, 
The thing that will away ? 
Then mourn no more, &c. 

Though you have lost your husband, 

Your comfort in distress ; 
Consider God regardeth 

The widdow's heaviness : 
And hath strictly charged, 

Such as his children be. 
The fatherless and widdow 

To shield from injury. 

Then mourn no more, &c. 

If he were true and faithful, 

And loving unto thee, 
Doubt not but there's in England, 

Enough as good as he ; 
But if that such affection, 

Within his heart was none. 
Then give God praise and glory. 

That he is dead and gone. 
And mourn no more, &c. 

Receive such suitors friendly. 
As do resort to thee ; 


Respect not the outward person, 
But the inward gravity : 

And with advised judgment, 
Chuse him above the rest, 

Whom thou by proof hast tried. 
And found to be the best. 
Then mourn no more, &c. 

Then shalt thou live a life 

Exempt from all annoy ; 
And whensoever it chanceth, 

I pray God give thee joy. 
And thus I make an end, 

AVith true humility ; 
In hope my simple solace 

May w^ell accepted be. 

Then mourn no more, &c. 



Faith is a figure standing now for nought ; 
Faith is a fancy we ought to cast in thought ; 
Faith now-a-days, as all the world may see, 
Resteth in few, and faith is fled from thee. 

Is there any faith in strangers to be found ? 
Is there any faith lies hidden in the ground ? 



Is there any faith in men that buried be r 
No, there is none ; and faith is fled from thee. 

Fled is the faith that might remain in any ; 
Fled is the faith that should remain in many ; 
Fled is the faith that should in any be ; 
Then fareAvel hope, for faith is fled from thee. 

From faith I see that all things are a dying ; 
From faith I see that every one is flpng ; 
They from faith, that most in faith should be. 
And faithless thou, that brake thy faith to me. 

Thee have I sought, but thee I could not find ; 
Thou of all others most within my mind ; 
Thee have I left, and I alone will be. 
Because I find that faith is fied from thee. 





To the Tune of " Crimson Velvet". 

Ix the days of old, ^ 

When fair France did flourish. 
Stories plainly told. 

Lovers felt annoy ; 
The king a daughter had, 

Beauteous, fair, and lovely. 


Which made her father glad, 

She was his only joy. 
A prince of England came, 
Whose deeds did merit fame. 

He woo'd her long, and lo ! at last, 
Took what he did require ; 
She granted his desire, 

Their hearts in one were linked fast. 
Which when her father proved. 
Lord ! how he was moved 

And tormented in his mind : 
He sought for to prevent them, 
And to discontent them ; 

Fortune crosses lovers kind. 
When as these princely twain 

Were thus debarr'd of pleasure, 
Through the king's disdain. 

Which their joys withstood. 
The lady lockt up close 

Her jewels and her treasure, 
Having no remorse 

Of state or royal blood. 
In homely poor array, 
She went to court away, 

To meet her love and heart's delight ; 
Who in a forest great. 
Had taken up his seat 

To Avait her coming in the night. 
But lo ! what sudden danger, 
To this princely stranger, 


Chanced as he sat alone; 
By outlaws he was robbed, 
And mth poinard stabbed, 

Uttering many a dying groan ; 
The princess ai-med by him. 

And by true desii'e, 
Wandering all that night, 

Without dread at all : 
Still unknown, she past 

In her strange attire. 
Coming at the last 

Within echo's call. 
You, fair woods, quoth she. 
Honoured may you be. 

Harbouring my heart's delight; 
Which doth encompass here. 
My joy and only dear, 

My trusty friend, and comely knight ? 
Sweet ! I come unto thee. 
Sweet ! I come to wooe thee, 

That thou may'st not angry be ; 
For my long delaying. 
And thy courteous staying. 

Amends for all I make to thee. 
Passing thus alone. 

Through the silent forest 
Many a grievous groan 

Sounded in her ear ; 
Where she heard a man 

To lament the sorest 


Chance that ever came, 

Forc'd by deadly fear ; 
Farewel ! my dear, quoth he, 
Whom I shall never see ; 

For why ? my life is at an end ; 
For thy sweet sake I die, 
Through villain's cruelty. 

To shew I am a faithful friend ; 
Here lie I a-bleeding. 
While my thoughts are feeding 
On the rarest beauty found ; 
O ! hard hap that may be, 
Little knows my lady 

My heart-blood lies on the ground. 
With that he gave a groan, 

That did break asunder 
All the tender strings 
Of his gentle heart ; 
She who knew his voice, 

At his tale did wonder ; 
All her former joys 

Did to grief convert ; 
Straight she ran to see, 
Who this man should be. 

That so like her love did speak ; 
And found when as she came, 
Her lovely lord lay slain, 

Smeer'd in blood, which life did break 
Which when that she espied. 
Lord 1 how sore she cried, 


Her sorrows could not counted be ; ' 
Her eyes like fountains running, 
While she cryed out, My darling, 

Would God that I had dy'd for thee ! 
His pale lips, alas ! 

Twenty times she kissed, 
And his face did wash 

With her brinish tears ; 
Every bleeding wound. 

Her fair face bedewed ; 
Wiping off the blood 
> With her golden hairs. 

Speak, fair prince, to me ; 

One sweet word of comfort give ; 
Lift up thy fair eyes, 
Listen to my cries ; 

Think in what great grief I live. 
All in vain she sued ; 
All in vain she wooed ; 

The prince's life was fled and gone : 
There stood she still mourning. 
Till the sun's returning, 

And bright day Avas coming on. 
In this great distress. 

Quoth this royal lady. 
Who can now express 

What will become of me ? 
To my father's court 

Never will I wander, 
But some service seek, 


Where I may placed be. 
Whilst she thus made her moan, 
Weeping all alone, 

In this deep and deadly fear, 
A forester, all in green. 
Most comely to be seen. 

Ranging the wood did find her there, 
Round beset with sorrow ; 
Maid ! quoth he, good morrow ; 

What hard hap hath brought you here ? 
Harder hap did never 
Chance to a maiden ever ; 

Here lies slain my brother dear : 
Where might I be plac'd, 

Gentle forester, tell me ? 
Where might I procure 

A service in my need ? 
Pains I will not spare. 

But will do my duty ; 
Ease me of my care. 

Help my extream need. 
The forester all amazed. 
On her beauty gazed, 

'Till his heart was set on fire : 
If, fair maid, quoth he. 
You will go with me. 

You shall have your heart's desire. 
He brought her to his mother. 
And above all other, 

He set forth this maiden's praise: 

58 THE gaki.axj:) 

Long was his heart mflamed, 
At length her love he gamed, 

So fortune did his glory raise. 
Thus unknown, he matcht 

With the king' s fair daughter ; 
Children seven he had, 

Ere she to him was known ; 
But when he understood 

She was a royal princess, 
By this means, at last, 

He shewed forth her fame. 
He cloath'd his children then, 
Not like other men, 

In party colours strange to see ; 
The right side cloth of gold. 
The left side to behold. 

Of woollen cloth still framed he. 
Men thereat did wonder, 
Golden fame did thunder 

This strange deed in every place. 
The king he coming thither, 
Being pleasant weather, 

In the woods the hart to chase ; 
The children there did stand, 

As their mother willed, 
AVhere the royal king 

Must of force come by. 
Their mother richly clad 

In fair crimson velvet ; 
Their father all in gray, 


Most comely to the eye. 
When this famous king, 
Noting every thing, 

Did ask him how he durst be so bold, 
To let his Avife to wear, 
And deck his children there, 

In costly robes of pearl and gold ? 
The forester bold replied. 
And the cause descried, 

And to the king he thus did say : 
Well may they by their mother, 
Wear rich gold like other, 

Being by birth a princess gay. 
The king upon these words, 

More heedfully beheld them ; 
Till a crimson blush 

His conceit did cross. 
The more I look, quoth he, 

Upon thy wife and children. 
The more I call to mind 

My daughter whom I lost. 
I am that child, quoth she. 
Falling on her knee ; 

Pardon me, my soveraign liege. 
The king perceiving this. 
His daughter dear did kiss, 

Till joyful tears did stop his speech. 
With his train he turned, 
And with her sojourned ; 

Straight he dubb'd her husband knight ; 


He made him earl of Flanders, 
One of his chief commanders ; 

Thus was their sorrow put to flight. 


To the Tune of " Flying Fame". 

In stately Rome sometime did dwell 

A man of noble fame, 
Who had a son of seemly shape, 

Alphonso was his name. 

When he was grown and come to age. 

His father thought it best 
To send his son to Athens fan-. 

Where wisdom's school did rest. 

And when he was to Athens come. 

Good lectures for to learn, 
A place to board him mth delight. 

His friends did well discern. 

A noble knight of Athens town. 

Of him did take the charge ; 
Who had a son, Ganselo call'd, 

Just of his pitch and age ; 


111 stature and in person both, 

In favour, speech, and face. 
In quality and conditions eke. 

They 'greed in every place. 

So like they were, in all respects, 

The one unto the other. 
They were not known, but by their names. 

Of father or of mother. 

And as in favour they were found 

Alike in all respects. 
Even so they did most dearly love, 

As prov'd by good effects. 

Ganselo lov'd a lady fair. 

Which did in Athens dwell, 
Who was in beauty peerless found. 

So far she did excel. 

Upon a time it chanced so. 

As fancy did him move. 
That he would visit, for delight, 

His lady and his love ; 

And to his true and faithful friend, 

He declared the same ; 
Asking of him if he would see 

That fair and comelj" dame. 


Alphonso did thereto agree ; 

And with Ganselo went 
To see the lady which he lov'd, 

Which bred his discontent. 

But when he cast his crystal eyes 

Upon her angel's hue, 
The beauty of that lady bright, 

Did straight his heart subdue. 

His gentle heart so wounded was. 
With that fair lady's face, 

That afterwards, he daily liv'd 
In sad and woful case ; 

And of his grief he knew not how 
Therefore to make an end ; 

For that he knew the lady's love, 
Was yielded to his friend. 

Then being sore perplext in mind. 

Upon his bed he lay, 
Like one which death and deep despair 

Had almost worn away. 

His friend Ganselo that did see 
His grief and great distress. 

At length requested for to know 
His cause of heaviness. 

OF GOOD-^VU,].. Go 

With much ado, at length he told 

The truth unto his friend ; 
Who did relieve his inward woe, 

With comfort to the end. 

Take courage then, dear friend, quoth he, 

Though she through love be mine, 
My right I will resign to thee ; 

The lady shall be thine. 

You know our favours are alike, 

Our speech also likewise ; 
This day in mine apparel 

You shall yourself disguise ; 

And unto church then shall you go, 

Directly in my stead ; 
Lo ! though my friends suppose 'tis I, 

You shall the lady wed. 

Alphonso was so well appaid. 

And as they had decreed, 
He went that day and wedded plain 

The lady there indeed. 

But when the nuptial-feast was done. 

And Phoebus quite was fled, 
The lady for Ganselo took 

Alphonso to her bed. 


That night was spent in pleasant sport, 
And when the day was come, 

A post for fair Alphonso came. 
To fetch him home from Rome. 

Then was the matter plainly proved, 

Alphonso wedded was. 
And not Ganselo, to that dame. 

Which brought great woe, alas ! 

Alphonso being gone to Rome, 

With this his lady gay, 
Ganselo' s friends and kindred all. 

In such a rage did stay, 

That they depriv'd him of his wealth. 

His land and rich attire, 
And banish' d him their country quite. 

In rage and wrathful ire. 

With sad and pensive thoughts, alas ! 

Ganselo wandred then ; 
Who was constrain' d, thro' want, to beg 

Relief of many men. 

In this distress oft would he say, 

To Rome I mean to go. 
To seek Alphonso, my dear friend. 

Who will relieve my woe. 

OF GOO I)- AVI LL. 65 

To Rome, when poor Ganselo came, 

And found Alphonso's place. 
Which was so famous, huge, and fair, 

Himself in such poor case, 

He was asham'd to shew himself 

In that his poor array ; 
Saying, Alphonso knows me well. 

If he would come this way : 

Therefore he staid within the street ; 

Alphonso then came by. 
But heeding not Ganselo poor, 

His friend that stood so nigh ; 

Which griev'd Ganselo to the heart. 

Quoth he, and is it so ? 
Doth proud Alphonso now disdain 

His friend indeed to know r 

In desperate sort away he went, 

Into a barn hard by, 
And presently he drew his knife. 

Thinking thereby to die. 

And bitterly in sorrow there. 

Did he lament and weep : 
And being over- weigh' d with grief. 

He there fell fast asleep. 


While soundly there he sweetlj' slept. 
Came in a murthering thief, 

And saw a naked knife lie by 
This man so full of grief. 

The knife so bright he took up strait, 

And went away amain, 
And thrust it in a murthered man, 

Which he before had slain ; 

And afterwards he went with speed, 
And put this bloody knife 

Into his hand that sleeping lay. 
To save himself from strife. 

Which done, away in haste he ran ; 

And when that search was made, 
Ganselo, with his bloody knife. 

Was for the murther staid, 

And brought before the magistrate 
Who did confess most plain, 

That he indeed, with that same knife. 
The murther' d man had slain. 

Alphonso sitting then as judge. 
And knomng Ganselo' s face, 

To save his friend, did say himself 
Was guilty in that case. 


None, quoth Alphonso, kill'd the man, 

My lord, but only I ; 
And, therefore, set this poor man free, 

And let me justly die. 

Thus while for death these faithful friends 

In striving did proceed. 
The man before the senate came. 

That did the fact indeed. 

Who being moved with remorse, 

Their friendly hearts to see. 
Did say before the judges plain, 

None did the fact but he. 

Thus when the truth was plainly told. 

Of all sides joy was seen ; 
Alphonso did embrace his friend, 

Which had so woful been. 

In rich array he cloathed him. 

As fitted his degree, 
And helpt him to his lands again, 

And former dignity. 

The murtherer, for telling truth, 

Had pardon at that time ; 
Who afterwards lamented much, 

His foul and grievous crime. 


F 2 




To the Tune of " Hey ho holiday" dx. 

Upon a down, where shepherds keep, 

Piping pleasant lays, 
Two country maids were keeping sheep, 

And sweetly chanted roundelays. 

Three shepherds, each an oaten reed. 
Blaming Cupid's cruel ^\Tong, 

Unto these rural mTuphs agreed 
To keep a tuneful under- song. 

And so they were in number five, 

Musick's number sweet, 
And we the like let us contrive, 

To sing their songs in order meet. 

Fair Phillis's part I take to me, 

She 'gainst loving hinds complains ; 

And Amarillis thou shalt be, 

She defends the shepherd swains. 



Ph. Fie on the slights that men devise. 
Sh. Hey ho ! silly slights. 

P. When simple maids they would entice. 
S. Maidens are yoiing men's chief delights. 

A. Nay, women they with their eyes, 
S. Eyes like beams of charming sun. 

A. And men once caught, they soon despise. 
S. So are shepherds oft undone. 

P. If any young man win a maid. 
S. Happy man is he. 

P. By trusting him she is betray' d. 
S. Fie upon such treachery ! 

A. If maids catch young men with their guiles. 
S. Hey ho ! hey ho ! guiltless grief. 

A. They deal like weeping crocodiles. 
S. That murther man without relief. 

P. I know a silly country hind. 
S. Hey ho ! hey ho ! silly swain ! 

P. To whom fair Daphne proved kind. 
S. Was he not kind to her again ? 

P. He vow'd to Pan with many an oath. 
S. Hey ho ! hey ho ! shepherds' god is he. 

A. Yet since he hath chang'd, and broke his troth. 
S. Troth-plight broke, will plagued be. 


A. She had deceived many a swain. 

>S'. Fie upon false deceit ! 

A. And plighted troth to them in vain. 

*S'. There can be no grief more great. 

A. Her measure was with measure paid. 

S. Hey ho ! hey ho ! equal need. 

A. She was beguil'd that was betray' d. 

S. So shall all deceivers speed. 

P. If every maid were like to me. 

>S'. Hey ho ! hey ho ! hard of heart. 

P. Both love and lovers scorn' d should be. 

S. Scorners should be sure of smart. 

A. If every maid were of my mind. 

S. Hey ho I hey ho ! lovely sweet. 

A. They to their lovers should prove kind. 

S. Kindness is for maidens meet. 

P. Methinks love is an idle toy. 

S. Hey ho ! hey ho ! busie pain. 

P. Both wit and sense it doth annoy. 

S. Both wit and sense thereby we gain. 

A. Tush ! Philis, cease ; be not so coy. 

P. Hey ho ! hey ho I my disdain. 

A. I know 5'ou love a shepherd's boy. 

S. Fie on that Avoman so can feign I 


P. Well, Amarillis, now I yield. 
S. Shepherds sweetly pipe aloud. 

P. Love conquers both in town and field. 
*S'. Like a tyrant, fierce and proud. 

A. The evening- star is up we see. 
*S'. Vesper shines, we must away. 

P. Would every lady would agree. 
S. So we end our roundelay. 





All you that are to mirth inclin'd, 
Consider well, and bear in mind 
What our good God for us hath done, 
In sending his beloved son. 

Let all our songs and praises be 
Unto His heavenly majesty; 
And evermore amongst our mirth, 
Remember Christ our Saviour's birth. 


The five and twentieth of December, 
Good cause we have for to remember ; 
In Bethlehem, upon this morn, 
There was our blest Messias born. 

The night before that happy tide. 
The spotless Virgin and her guide 
Were long time seeking up and down, 
To find them lodging in the town. 

And mark how all things came to pass ; 
The inns and lodgings so fill'd was. 
That they could have no room at all. 
But in a silly ox's stall. 

This night the Virgin Mary mild, 
Was safe deliver' d of a child ; 
According unto heaven's decree, 
Man's sweet salvation for to be. 

Near Bethlehem did shepherds keep 
Their herds and flocks of feeding sheep ; 
To w^hom God's angel did appear, 
WTiich put the shepherds in great fear. 

Prepare, and go, the angel said. 
To Bethlehem ! be not afraid ; 
There shall you see this blessed morn. 
The princely babe, sweet Jesus, born. 


With thankful hearts, and joyful mind. 
The shepherds went this babe to find ; 
And as the heavenly angel told, 
They did our Saviour Christ behold. 

Within a manger was he laid, 
The Virgin Mary by him staid, 
Attending on the Lord of life. 
Being both mother, maid, and wife. 

Three eastern wise men from afar, 
Directed by a glorious star, 
Came boldly on, and made no stay 
Until they came where Jesus lay : 

And being come unto the place 
Wherein the blest Messias was. 
They humbly laid before his feet. 
Their gifts of gold and odours sweet. 

See how the Lord of heaven and earth, 
Shew'd himself lowly in his birth ; 
A sweet example for mankind 
To learn to bear an humble mind. 

No costly robes, nor rich attire. 
Did Jesus Christ our Lord desire ; 
No musick, nor sweet harmony. 
Till glorious angels from on high, 


Did in melodious manner sing 
Praises unto our heavenly king ; 
All honour, glory, might, and power, 
Be unto Christ our Saviour. 

If choirs of angels did rejoyce, 
Well may mankind with heart and voice 
Sing praises to the God of heaven, 
That unto us a son hath given. 

Moreover, let us every one 
Call unto mind, and think upon 
His righteous life, and how he dy'd 
To have poor sinners justified. 

Suppose, O ! man, that thou shouldst lie 
In prison strong, condemn' d to die. 
And that no friend upon the earth 
Could ransom thee from cruel death. 

Except you can some party find. 
That for your sake will be so kind. 
His own heart's blood for to dispense, 
And lose his life in thy defence. 

Such was the love of Christ, when we 
Were lost in hell perpetually. 
To save us from the gulph of woe. 
Himself much pain did undergo. 


Whilst in this world he did remain, 
He never spent one hour in vain ; 
In fasting, and in prayer divine. 
He daily spent away the time ; 

He in the temple daily taught, 
And many wonders strange he wrought. 
He gave the blind their perfect sight, 
And made the lame to walk upright : 

He cur'd the lepers of their evils. 
And by his power he cast out devils. 
He raised Lazarus from the grave, 
And to the sick their health he gave. 

But yet for all these wonders ^vrought, 
The Jews his dire destruction sought. 
The traytor Judas was the man 
That with a kiss betray' d him than. 

Then was he led to Justice-hall, 
Like one despis'd amongst them all; 
And had the sentence given, that he 
Should suffer death upon a tree. 

Unto the execution-place 
They brought him on with much disgrace ; 
With vile reproachful taunts and scorns, 
They crown' d him with a wreath of thorns. 


Then to the cross, through hands and feet, 
They nail'd our blest Redeemer sweet ; 
And further to augment his smart. 
With bloody spear they pierc'd his heart. 

Thus have you seen and heard aright. 
The love of Christ, the Lord of might ; 
And how He shed his precious blood. 
Only to do us sinners good. 


To the Tune of " In Summer Time." 

The mighty Lord that rules in heaven. 
Strange wonders doth in England send ; 

And many warnings hath us given, 

'Cause we our lives should soon amend. 

But like the misbelieving Jews, 

So hard of heart our people be. 
They think that nothing can be true 

But that which their own eves do see. 


Therefore, good people, mark it well ; 

I'll here lay open to your view 
A song most wonderful and strange, 

And can approve it to be true. 

A damsel did near Padstow dwell, 
Within the county of Cornwal fair. 

Whose parents had no child but her ; 
She was her father's only heir: 

To whom came many a brave young man. 

Intending to make her a wife ; 
But never tempting tongue could make 

This damsel change her maiden life. 

And though her parents riches had. 

And costly garments her allow' d ; 
In homely habit she would go. 

And alway hated to be proud. 

She ne'er was heard to curse or swear, 

Nor any word of anger give ; 
But courteous was in every thing 

To them that did about her live. 

If she heard any one to swear. 

Or take God's sacred name in vain. 

She told them that they crucified 
Our Saviour Jesus Christ again. 


She often did frequent the church, 
And also did relieve the poor ; 

The widow and the fatherless 
She every day fed at her door. 

Upon a time this damsel she 

Fell sick, and in a deadly swound 

She lay for twenty hours' space, 
No life in her then could be found. 

Her aged father did lament, 

Her mother she shed many a tear ; 

She wept, she wail'd, she Avrung her hands^, 
For loss of this her daughter dear, 

Alas ! alas ! my child, she said, 
How dearly have I tendered thee, 

And wilt thou now forsake the world 
And leave me in this misery ? 

I would thy birth had been my death, 
Then never had I known this day. 

This grievous moan her mother made 
By her dear daughter as she lay. 

At last she did strong waters fetch. 

And rubb'd her temples and each vein. 

Till at the last the damsel had 
Recover' d life and sense again. 


And being come unto her speech, 

With voice most shrill, aloud she cried, 

O, mother, you have done me wrong, 
This cannot be by you denied. 

For I was in the way to heaven. 

Two glorious angels did me guide. 
Who gently took me by the hand. 

And helped me up on every side ; 

Singing of psalms and spiritual songs, 

So long as Ave pass'd on the way ; 
Till he which had a golden crown 

Met us, and caused us to stay. 

Return, said he, from whence thou cam'st, 
Thy mother for thee makes great moan ; 

And tell these things, which I declare. 
Unto thy neighbours every one. 

Speak this, quoth he, unto them all ; 

How that the Lord, e'er long, will send 
A grievous punishment to them 

That wilfully his will offend. 

This is the last age of the world, 

Even to the very sink of sin, 
The puddle of iniquity 

Which you long time have wallowed in. 


The men and wives live in discoid ; 

The father envies his o^vn son ; 
The rich, the poor, the old, the young, 

Do hourly into mischief run. 

Extortion and idolatry, 

And hateful pride are now in use ; 
Blasphemous oaths, and curses vile, 

The people count as no abuse. 

Good ministers are set at nought, 
The Sabbath is profan'd also ; 

The poor lie star\dng in the street, 
Opprest with sorrow, grief and woe. 

The loathsome sin of drunkenness 

And whoredom, doth too much exceed ; 

He that can do his neighbour ^vrong, 
Doth think he doth a goodly deed. 

Now ponder v/ell what I do say ; 

Doom's dreadful day is nigh at hand; 
Fire and brimstone shall destroy 

The heaven, the earth, the sea and land : 

And every soul before the Lord 
A just account he then shall give ; 

His conscience shall a witness be. 
In what condition he did live. 


Then he that hath done well shall pass 

Forthwith to everlasting rest, 
And live among those glorious saints 

Which Jesus Christ our Lord hath blest. 

Where martyrs, prophets, and patriarchs, 

Do hallelujahs ever sing ; 
Glory and honour be to God, 

And unto Christ our heavenly king. 

Then woe to them that have done ill, 
When they shall hear the sentence past. 

Depart ye cursed into hell. 

Whose fire for evermore shall last. 

The sorrows which are here foretold 

Will come on you, e'er it be long; 
Except repentance truly dwell 

In hearts of all, both old and young. 

Repentance, and true wat'ry eyes. 

Will help to quench the burning flame, 

Which he hath kindled to consume 

This wicked world's most rotten frame. 

Let not your building, all so braA'e, 
Be burnt and wasted with God's ire; 

Nor let your souls, for whom Christ died, 
Be burnt in hell's eternal fire. 

Here cnclofh the Prophesie. 



These speeches spoke, the maiden died, 
And came no more to life again ; 

Her soul, no doubt, is gone to heaven, 
With glorious angels to remain. 

At her decease, an harmony 

Of musick there was heard to sound. 

Which ravish' d all the standers-by. 
It did with sweetness so abound ; 

It pierc'd the earth and air also, 

Yet no man knew from whence it came ; 

But each one said it came from heaven ; 
And presently, upon the same, 

The magistrates of that same parish. 

Which heard and saw this wonder strange, 

Desir'd to have it put in print, 

'Cause wicked men their ways may change. 


To the Tune of " The Bride's Good-morroic." 

A NOBLE marquess, as he did ride a-hunting. 

Hard by a river side, 
A proper maiden, as she did sit a- spinning. 

His gentle eye espy'd : 


Most fair and lovely, and of comely grace was she, 

Althoiigh in simple attire ; 
She sang most sweetly, with pleasant voice melodiously, 

Which set the Lord's heart on fire. 
The more he lookt, the more he might, 
Beauty bred, his heart's delight ; 

And to this damsel he went. 
God speed, quoth he, thou famous flower, 
Fair mistress of this homely bower, 
Where love and vertue live with sweet content. 

With comely gesture, and modest mild behaviour. 

She bad him welcome then ; 
She entertain' d him in a friendly manner, 

And all his gentlemen. 
The noble marquess in his heart felt such flame, 

Which set his senses all at strife. 
Quoth he, fair maiden, shew soon what is thy name ? 

I mean to take thee to my wife. 
Grissel is my name, quoth she. 
Far unfit for your degree ; 

A silly maiden, and of parents poor. 
Nay, Grissel, thou art rich, he said, 
A vertuous, fair, and comely maid ; 

Grant me thy love, and I will ask no more. 

At length she consented, and being both contented, 

They married were with speed : 
Her country russet was turn'd to silk and velvet. 

As to her state agreed : 


And when that she was trimly attired in the same, 

Her beauty shin'd most bright; 
Far staining every other brave and comely dame 

That did appear in her sight. 
Many envied her therefore, 
Because she was of parents poor, 

And • twdxt her lord and her great strife did raise : 
Some said this, and some said that; 
Some did call her beggar's brat; 

And to her lord they would her oft dispraise. 

O, noble marquess, quoth they, why do you wrong us, 

Thus basely for to wed ; 
That might have got an honourable lady 

Into your princely bed ? 
Who will not now your noble issue still deride, 

Which shall be hereafter born. 
That are of blood so base by the mother's side, 

The which will bring them to scorn ? 
Put her, therefore, quite away ; 
Take to you a lady gay, 

Whereby your lineage may renowned be. 
Thus every day they seem'd to prate 
At malic' d Grissel's good estate. 

Who took all this most mild and patiently. 

When that the marquess did see that they M'ere bent thus 

Against his faithful wife, 
Whom most dearlj', tenderly, and intiiely, 

He loved as his Ife : 

OF (;i)OD-Wl],L. So 

Minding in secret for to prove her patient heart, 

Thereby her foes to disgrace ; 
Thinking to play a hard discourteous part, 

That men might pity her case. 
Great with child this lady was, 
And at length it came to pass, 

Two lovely children at one birth she had \ 
A son and daughter God had sent, 
Which did their father well content, 

And which did make their mother's heart full glad. 

Great royal feasting was at the children's christ'ning, 

And princely triumph made 
Six weeks together, all nobles that came thither. 

Were entertain' d and staid. 
And when that these pleasant sportings quite were done, 

The marquess a messenger sent 
For his young daughter and his pretty smiling son ; 

Declaring his full intent, 
How that the babes must murthered be. 
For so the marquess did decree. 

Come, let me have the children, he said. 
With that fair Grissel wept full sore. 
She wrung her hands and said no more. 

My gracious lord must have his will obey'd. 

She took the babies from the nursing -ladies. 

Between her tender arms ; 
She often wishes, with many sorrowful kisses. 

That she might help their harms. 


Farewel, quoth she, my children dear, 

Never shall I see you again ; 
'Tis long of me, your sad and woful mother dear. 

For whose sake you must be slain : 
Had I been born of royal race, 
You might have liv'd in happy case ; 

But now you must die for my unworthiness. 
Come, messenger of death, quoth she, 
Take my despised babes to thee, 

And to their father my complaints express. 

He took the children, and to his noble master 

He brought them forth with speed ; 
Who secretly sent them unto a noble lady 

To be nurst up indeed. 
Then to fair Grissel with a heavy heart he goes, 

Where she sat mildly all alone, 
A pleasant gesture and a lovely look she shows. 

As if grief she had never known. 
Quoth he, my children now are slain ; 
What thinks fair Grissel of the same ? 

Sweet Grissel, now declare thy mind to me. 
Since you, my lord, are pleas' d with it, 
Poor Grissel thinks the action fit ; 

Both I and mine at your command will be. 

The nobles murmur, fair Grissel, at thine honour. 

And I no joy can have 
'Till thou be banisht from my court and presence. 

As they unjustly crave. 


Thou must be stript out of thy stately garments ; 

And as thou camest to me, 
In homely gray, instead of silk and purest pall, 

Now all thy cloathing must be ; 
My lady thou must be no more. 
Nor I thy lord, which grieves me sore ; 

The poorest life must now content thy mind : 
A groat to thee I may not give. 
Thee to maintain while I do live ; 

'Gainst my Grissel such great foes I find. 

When gentle Grissel heard these woful tidings, 

The tears stood in her eyes ; 
She nothing said ; no words of discontentment 

Did from her lips arise : 
Her velvet gown most patiently she stript off, 

Her girdle of silk with the same : 
Her russet gown was brought again with many a scoff; 

To bear them all, herself did frame ; 
When she was drest in this array, 
And ready was to part away, 

God send long life unto my lord, quoth she ; 
Let no offence be found in this 
To give my lord a parting kiss. 

With wat'ry eyes, Farewel ! my dear, quoth he. 

From stately palace, unto her father's cottage, 

Poor Grissel now is gone ; 
Full fifteen winters she lived there contented, 

No wrong she thought upon ; 


And at that time thro' all the land the speeches went, 

The marquess should married be 
Unto a noble lady of high descent, 

And to the same all parties did agree. 
The marquess sent for Grissel fair, 
The bride's bed-chamber to prejDare, 

That nothing should therein be found awry; 
The bride was with her brother come, 
Which was great joy to all and some ; 

And Grissel took all this most patiently. 

And in the morning when that they should be wedded, 

Her patience now was try'd; 
Grissel was charged in princely manner 

For to attire the bride. 
Most willingly she gave consent unto the same ; 

The bride in her bravery was drest, 
And presently the noble marquess thither came, 

With all the ladies at his request. 
Oh ! Grissel, I would ask of thee 
If to this match thou wouldst agree ? 

Methinks thy looks are waxed wond'rous coy. 
W^ith that they all began to smile, 
And Grissel she replies the while, 

God send lord marquess many years of joy ! 

The marquis was moved to see his best beloved 

Thus patient in distress ; 
He stept unto her, and by the hand he took her, 

These Avoids he did express ; 


Thou art the bride, and all the brides I mean to have; 

These two thy own children be. 
The youthful lady on her knees did blessing crave, 

The brother as willing as she : 
And you that envy her estate. 
Whom I have made my loving mate, 

Now blush for shame, and honour vertuous life ; 
The chronicles of lasting fame, 
Shall evermore extol the name 

Of patient Grissel, my most constant wife. 



Truth. God speed you, ancient father. 

And give you a good daye : 
What is the cause, I praye you. 

So sadly here you staye ? 
And that you keep such gazing 

On this decayed place. 
The which, for superstition. 

Good princes down did raze ? 

Iffn. Chill tell thee by my vazen. 

That zometimes che have knowne ; 
A vair and goodly abbey. 

Stand here of bricke and stone : 


And many a holy \Tier, 
As ich may say to thee, 

Within these goodly cloysters, 
Che did full often zee. 

Truth. Then I must tell thee, father, 

In truth and veritie, 
A sorte of greater hypocrites, 

Thou couldst not likely see : 
Deceiving of the simple, 

With false and feigned lies ; 
But such an order, truly, 

Christ never did devise. 

lyn. Ah ! ah ! che zmell thee now, man ; 

Che know well what thou art ; 
A vellow of mean learning, 

Che was not worth a vart : 
Vor when we had the old lawe, 

A merry world was then. 
And every thing was plenty 

Among all zortes of men. 

Truth. Thou givest me an answer. 

As did the Jews sometimes 
Unto the prophet Jeremye, 

AVhen he accus'd their crimes. 
'Twas merry, said the people, 

And joyful in our rea'me. 
Which did offer spice-cakes 

Unto the queen of heav'n. 


lyn. Chill tell thee what, good vellowe ; 

Bevore the vicars went hence, 
A bushel of the best wheate 

Was zold for vourteen pence, 
And vorty egges a penny. 

That were both good and newe ; 
And this zhe zay my zelf have zeene, 

And yet ich am no Jewe. 

Truth. Within the sacred bible. 

We find it written plaine, 
The latter days should troublesome 

And dangerous be, certaine ; 
That we should be self-lovers, 

And charity wax colde ; 
Then 'tis not true religion 

That makes thee grief to holde. 

lyn. Chill tell thee my opinion plaine, 

And choul that well ye knewe ; 
Ich care not for the bible booke, 

'Tis too big to be true : 
Our blessed ladye's psalter, 

Zhall for my money goe ; 
Zuch pretty prayers as there bee, 

The bible cannot zhowe. 

Truth. Now thou hast spoken trulye ; 
For in that book, indeede, 
No mention of our ladyc, 
Or Komish saint we reade : 


For by the blessed Spirit 
That book indited was, 

And not by simple persons, 
As is the foolish masse. 

lyn. Cham ziire they are not voolishe 

That made the masse, che trowe ; 
Why, man, 'tis all in Latine, 

And vools no Latine knowe : 
Were not our fathers wise men, 

And they did like it well ? 
Who very much rejoyced 

To hear the zeering bell ? 

Truth. But many kings and prophets, 

As I may say to thee, 
Have wisht the light that you have, 

And could it never see ; 
For what art thou the better, 

A Latine song to hear, 
And understandeth nothing 

That they sing in the quiere ? 

I(jn. O ! hold thy peace, che pray thee, 

The noise was passing trim, 
To hear the vi'iers zinging, 

As we did enter in : 
And then to zee the rood-loft 

Zo bravely zet with zaints. 
And now to zee them wand'ring, 

My heart with zorrow vaints. 


Truth. The Lord did give commandment, 

No image thou shouldst make, 
Nor that unto idolatry 

You should yourself betake : 
The golden calf of Israel 

Moses did therefore spoile. 
And Baal's priests and temple 

He brought to utter foile. 

Ign. But our ladye of Walsinghame 

Was a pure and holy zaint. 
And many men in pilgrimage, 

Did zhew to her complaint : 
Yea, with zweet Thomas Becket, 

And many other moe, 
The holy maid of Kent, likewise. 

Did many wonders zhowe. 

Truth. Such saints are well agreeing 

To your profession sure ; 
And to the men that made them 

So precious and so pure : 
The one was found a traytoure. 

And judg'd worthy of death ; 
The other eke for treason 

Did end his hateful breath. 

Ign. Yea, yea, it is no matter, 

Dispraise them as you wille ; 
But zure they did much goodnesse, 
"Would thev Mere "vvith us stille I 


We had our holy water, 
And holy bread likewise ; 

And many holy reliqiies 
We zaw before our eyes. 

Truth. And all this while they fed you 

With vain and sundry shows, 
Which never Christ commanded, 

As learned doctor knows ; 
Search then the holy scrij^tures, 

And thou shalt plainly see. 
That headlong to damnation 

They alway trained thee. 

Tgn. If it be true, good vellowe. 

As thou dost zay to mee. 
Then to my zaviour Jesus, 

Alone then will Ich flee ; 
Believing in the gospel, 

And passion of his Zon, 
And with the zubtil papistes 

Ich have for ever done. 

OF ftOOI)--\VIT,L. 95 



When king Nebuchadnezzar 

Was puffed up with pride, >. 

He sent forth many men of war, 

By Holofornes guide, 
To plague and spoil the world throughout, 

By fierce Bellona's rod. 
That would not fear and honour him, 

And acknowledge him their god. 

Which when the holy Israelites 

Did truly understand, 
For to prevent this tyranny 

They fortified their land ; 
Their towns and stately cities strong 

They did with victuals store ; 
Their warlike weapons they prepar'd, 

Theii- furious foe to gore. 

When stately Holofornes then 

Had knowledge of that thing, 
That they had thus prepar'd themselves 

For to withstand the king, 

96 thf:]> 

Quo[h he, what god is able now 
To keep these men from me r 

Is there a greater than our king, 
Whom all men fear to see ? 

Come, march with me, therefore, he said, 

My captains every one. 
And first unto Bethulia 

With speed let us be gone ; 
I will destroy each mother's son 

That is within the land ; 
Their God shall not deliver them 

Out of my furious hand. 

Wherefore about Bethulia, 

That little city then. 
On foot he planted up and down, 

An hundred thousand men ; 
Twelve thousand more, on horses brave, 

About the town had he ; 
He stopt their springs and water-pipes 

To work their miser}-. 

When four and thirty days they had 

With wars besieged been. 
The poor Bethulians at that time. 

So thirsty then were seen, 
That they were like to starve and dye, 

They were both weak and faint ; 
The people 'gainst the rulers cry, 

And this was their complaint : 


Better it is for us, quoth they, 

To yield unto our foe, 
Than by this great and grievous thirst, 

To be destroyed so : 
O ! render up the town, therefore, 

We are forsaken quite ; 
There is no means to escape their hands, 

Who might escape their might ? 

Whenas their grieved rulers heard 

The clamours which they made. 
Good people, be content, said they, 

And be no whit dismay' d ; 
Yet five days stay in hope of health, 

God will reward your woe ; 
But if by then no succour come. 

We'll yield unto our foe. 

When Judeth, prudent, princely dame, 

Had tydings of this thing. 
Which was Manesses' beauteous wife. 

That sometime was their king, 
Wh)'- tempt yc God so sore, she said, 

Before all men this day. 
Whom mortal men in conscience ought 

To fear and eke obey ? 

If you will grant me leave, quoth she, 

To pass abroad this night, 
To Holofornes 1 will go, 

For all his furious might ; h 


But what I do intend to do, 

Enquire not now of me. 
Go then in peace, fair dame, they said, 

And God be still with thee. 

When she from them was gotten home, 

Within her palace-gate, 
She called to her chiefest maid, 

That on her then did wait ; 
Bring me my best attire, quoth she, 

And jewels of fine gold ; 
And wash me with the finest balms 

That are for silver sold. 

The fairest, and the richest robe 

That then she did possess. 
Upon her dainty corpse she put ; 

And eke her hair did dress 
With costly pearls, and precious stones, 

And earrings of fine gold ; 
That like an angel she did seem, 

Most sweet for to behold. 

A pot of sweet and pleasant oil 

She took with her that time, 
A bag of figs, and fine wheat-flower, 

A bottle of fine wine. 
Because she would not eat with them 

That worship gods of stone : 
And from her city thus she went, 

With one poor maid alone. 


Much ground, alas ! she had not gone, 

Out of her own city, 
But that the centinels espy'd 

A woman wond'rous pritty ; 
From whence came you, fair maid ? quoth they, 

And where Avalk you so late ? 
From yonder town, good sirs, quoth she, 

To your lord of high estate. 

When they did mark and view her well, 

And saw her fair beauty. 
And therewithal her rich array, 

So gorgeous to the eye, 
They were amazed in their minds, 

So fair a dame to see ! 
They set her in a chariot then. 

In place of high degree. 

An hundred proper chosen men. 

They did appoint likewise, 
To wait on princely Judeth there. 

Whose beauty clear'd their eyes : 
And all the soldiers running came 

To view her as she went ; 
And thus with her they past along, 

Unto the general's tent. 

Then came his stately guard in haste, 

Fair Judeth for to meet, 
And to their high, renowned lord, 

They brought this lady sweet : ii 2 


A.ncl then before his honour there, 

Upon her knee she fell ; 
Her beauty bright made him to muse, 

So far she did excell. 

Rise up, renowned dame, quoth he, 

The glory of thy kind, 
And be no whit amaz'd at all, 

To shew to me thy mind I 
When she had utter' d her intent, 

Her wit amaz'd them all ; 
And Holofornes therewith he 

By love was brought to thrall. 

And bearing in his lofty breast 

The flames of hot desire, 
He granted every thing to her 

She did of him require ; 
Each night, therefore, he gave her leave 

To walk abroad to pray. 
According to her own request. 

Which she had made that day. 

When she in camp had three days been, 

Near Holofornes' tent. 
His chiefest friend, lord treasurer. 

Unto her then he sent ; 
Fair dame, quoth he, my lord commands 

This night your company ; 
Quoth she, I will not my dear lord 

In any thing deny. 


A very great and sumptuous feast 

Did Holofornes make 
Amongst the [warlike] lords and knights, 

And all for Judeth's sake ; 
But of their dainties, in no case 

Would pleasant Judeth taste, 
Yet Holofornes merry was. 

So near him she was plac'd. 

And being very pleasantly 

Disposed at that time. 
He drunk with them abundantl)' 

Of strong delicious wine ; 
So that his strength and memory, 

So far from him were fled, 
They laid him down, and Judeth then 

Was brought unto his bed. 

When all the doors about were shut, 

And every one was gone, 
Hard by the pillow of his bed, 

His sword she 'spy'd anon ; 
Then doAvn she took it presently ; 

To God for strength she pray'd ; 
She cut his head from shoulders quite, 

And gave it to her maid. 

The rich and golden canopy 

That hung over his bed. 
She took the same with her likewise. 

With Holofornes' head; 


And thus through all the court of guards, 

She escaped clean away ; 
None did her stay, thinking that she 

Had gone forth for to pray. 

When she had pass'd, escaped quite 

The danger of them all, 
And that she was come near unto 

The besieged city's wall, 
Come open me the gates, quoth she. 

Our foe the Lord hath slain; 
See here his head within my hand. 

That bore so great a fame. 

Upon a pole they pitcht his head, 

That all men might it 'spy, 
And o'er the city wall forthwith, 

They set it presently ; 
Then all the soldiers in the town 

March' d forth in rich array; 
But soon their foes 'spy'd their approach, 

For 'twas at break of day. 

Then running hastily to call 

Their general out of bed, 
They found his lifeless body there. 

But clean without his head ; 
When this was known, all in amaze. 

They fled away each man ; 
They left their tents full rich behind, 

And so away thev ran. 


Lo ! here behold how God provides 

For them that in him trust ; 
When earthly hopes are all in vain, 

He takes us from the dust ! 
How often hath our Judeth sav'd, 

And kept us from decay 
'Gainst Holofornes and the pope, 

As may be seen this day ? 



Translated out of the French. 

Amongst the j^rincely paragons, 

Bedeckt with dainty diamonds, 

Within mine eye, none doth come nigh 

The sweet red Rose of England. 
The lilies pass in bravery. 
In Flanders, Spain, and Italy, 
But yet the famous flower of France 
Doth honour the Rose of England. 

As I abroad was walking, 
I heard the small birds talking ; 
And every one did frame her song 
In praise of the Rose of England, 
The lilies, &c. 


Caesar may vaunt of victories, 
And Croesus of his happiness ; 
But he were blest, that may bear in his breast 
The sweet red Rose of England. 
The lilies, «S:c. 

The bravest lute bring hither. 
And let us sing together, 
Whilst I do ring, on every string, 
The praise of the Rose of England. 
The lilies, &:c. 

The sweetest jierfumes and spices 
The wise men brought to Jesus, 
Did never smell a quarter so well 
As doth the Rose of England. 
The lilies, &c. 

Then fair and princely flower, 
That over my heart doth tower. 
None may be compared to thee, 
Which art the fair Rose of England. 
The lilies, &c. 




Come hither, shepherd's swain. 

Sir, what do you require ? 
I pray thee shew thy name ? 

My name is Fond Desibe. 

When wast thou born. Desire ? 

In pomp and pride of May. 
By whom, sweet child, Avast thou begot ? 

Of fond Conceit, men say. 

Tell me who was thy nurse ? 

Sweet Youth, and sug'red joys. 
What was thy meat and dainty food ? 

Sad sighs and great annoys. 

What hadst thou for to drink ? 

Unsavoury lovers tears. 
What cradle wast thou rocked in ? 

In love, devoid of fears. 

What lulFd thee then asleep ? 

Sweet speech, which likes me best. 
Tell me where is thy dwelling-place ? 

In gentle hearts I rest. 


What thing doth please thee most r 

To gaze on beauty still. 
Whom dost thou think to be thy foe ? 

Disdain of my good- will. 

Doth company displease r 

Yea, sure, many one. 
Where doth Desire delight to live ? 

He loves to live alone. 

Doth either time or age 

Bring him unto decay ? 
No, no ; Desire both lives and dies 

Ten thousand times a day. 

Then, fond Desire, farewel ! 

Thou art no meat for me ; 
I should be lothe to dwell 

With such a one as thee. 


or GOOD-WILL. 107 



Crabbed age and youth 

Cannot live together ; 
Youth is full of pleasure, 

Age is full of care ; 
Youth's like summer's morn, 

Age like winter' s weather ; 
Youth is full of sport. 
Age's breath is short. 

Youth is wild, and age is lame ; 
Youth is hot and bold, 
Age is weak and cold ; 

Youth is wild, and age is tame ; 
Age, I do abhor thee ! 
Youth, I do adore thee ! 

O ! my love, my lord is young ; 
Age, I do defie thee ! 
O ! sweet shepherd, hye thee, 

For methinks thou stay'st too long. 


Here I do attend, 

Arm'd by love and pleasure, 
With my youthful friend 

Joyful for to meet : 
Here I do await 

For my only treasure ; 
Venus' sugar' d habit, 

Fancy's dainty sweet. 

Like a loving wife, 
So I lead my life. 

Thirsting for my heart's desire ; 
Come, sweet youth, I pray. 
Away, old man, away. 

Thou canst not give what I require ; 
For old Age I care not ; 
Come, my love, and spare not ; 

Age is feeble. Youth is strong ; 
Age, I do defie thee ! 
O ! sweet shepherd, hye thee ; 

For me thinks thou stay'st too long. 

Phoebus, stay thy steeds, 

Over- swiftly running ; 
Drive not on so fast 

Bright resplendent sun ; 
For fair Daphne's sake. 

Now express thy cunning; 
Pity on me take 

Else I am undone ; 


Your hours swift of flight, 
That wake with Titan's sight, 

And so consume the chearful day ; 

! stay a while with me. 
Till I my love may see ; 

O ! Youth, thou dost so long delay : 

Time will over- slip us, 
And in pleasure trip us ; 

Come away, therefore, with speed ; 

1 would not lose an hour 
For fair London's tower ; 

Venus, therefore, help my need : 
Flora's banks are spread 

In their rich attire. 
With their dainty violet, 

And the primrose sweet 
Daisies white and red. 

Fitting Youth's desire. 
Whereby the daflidilly 

And the cowslip meet. 

All for Youth's behove. 
Their fresh colours move 

In the meadows green and gay ; 
The birds, with sweeter notes, 
So strain their pretty throats 

To entertain my love this way ; 
I wish twenty wishes. 
And an hundred kisses, 


Would receive him by the hand ; 
If he give not me a fall, 
I would him coward call, 

And all unto my word would stand. 

Lo ! here he appears. 

Like to young Adonis, 
Ready to set on fire 

The chastest heart alive ; 
Jewel of my life, 

Welcome where thine own is ; 
Pleasant are thy looks. 

Sorrows to deprive ; 
Embracing thy darling dear. 
Without all doubtful fear. 

On thy command I wholly rest ; 
Do what thou wdlt to me, 
Therein I agree. 

And be not strange to my request ; 
To Youth I only yield ; 
Age fits not Venus' field. 

Though I be conquer' d, what care I ? 
In such a pleasant war. 
Come meet me if you dare ! 

Who first mislikes, let them cry. 




As you came from the holy-land 

Of Walsingham, 
Met you not with my true love 

By the way as you came ? 

How should I know your true love, 

That have met many a one 
As I came from the holy-land, 

That have come, that have gone ? 

She is neither white nor brown, 

But as the heavens fair ; 
There is none hath a form so divine, 

On the earth, in the air. 

Such a one did I meet, (good sir) 

With angel like face ; 
Who like a queen did appear 

In her gait, in her grace. 

She hath left me here all alone, 

All alone and unknown, 
Who sometime lov'd me as her life, 

And call'd me her own. 

AVhat's the cause she hath left thee alone, 
And a new way doth take, 


That sometime did love tliee as her life, 
And her joy did thee make ? 

I loved her all my youth, 

But now am old, as you see ; 

Love liketh not the fallen fruit, 
Nor the withered tree : 

For love is a careless child, 
And forgets promise past ; 

He is blind, he is deaf, when he list, 
And in faith never fast. 

For love is a great delight, 

And yet a trustless joy ; 
He is won with a word of despair. 

And is lost with a toy. 

Such is the love of womankind, 
Or the word (love) abus'd. 

Under which many childish desires 
And conceits are excus'd. 

But love is a durable fire. 
In the mind ever burning ; 

Never sick, never dead, never cold, 
From itself never turning. 




Long had the proud Spaniards 

Advanced to conquer us, 
Threatening our country 
With fire and sword ; 
Often preparing 

Their navy most sumptuous, 
With all the provision 
That Spain could aiford. 
Dub a-dub, dub, 

Thus strike the drums, 
Tan-ta-ra, ta-ra-ra. 

The English man comes. 

To the seas presently 

Went our lord admiral. 
With knights couragious. 

And captains full good ; 
The earl of Essex, 

A prosperous general, 
With him prepared 

To pass the salt flood. 
Dub a-dub, &c. 

At Plymouth speedily, 

Took they ships valiantly ; 


Braver ships never 

Were seen under sail ; 
With their fair colours spread, 

And streamers o'er their head; 
Now, bragging Spaniards, 

Take heed of your tail. 
Dub a-dub, &c. 

Unto Cales cunningly. 

Came we most happily, 
Where the kings navy 

Did secretly ride ; 
Being upon their backs, 

Piercing their buts of sack. 
Ere that the Spaniards 
Our coming descry' d. 
Tan-ta-ra, ta-ra-ra. 

The English man comes ; 
Bounce a-bounce, bounce a-bounce, 
Off went the guns. 

Great was the crying. 

Running and riding. 
Which at that season 

Was made at that place ; 
Then beacons were fired. 

As need was required ; 
To hide their great treasure, 

They had little space : 
Alas ! they cryed, 
English men comes. 


There you might see the ships, 

How they were fired fast, 
And hoAv the men drown' d 

Themselves in the sea ; 
There you may hear them cry, 

Wail and weep piteously ; 
When as they saw no shift 

To escape thence away. 
Dub a- dub, &c. 

The great Saint Philip, 

The pride of the Spaniards, 
Was burnt to the bottom. 

And sunk in the sea ; 
But the Saiiit Andreiv, 

And eke the Saint Matthew, 
We took in fight manfully, 

And brought them away. 
Dub a-dub, &c. 

The earl of Essex, 

Most valiant and hardy, 
With horsemen and footmen 

March' d towards the town ; 
The enemies which saw them, 

Full greatly affrighted, 
Did fly for their safeguard. 

And durst not come down. 
Dub a-dub, &c. 

I 2 


Now, quoth the noble earl, 

Courage, my soldiers all ! 
Fight, and be valiant. 

And spoil you shall have ; 
And well rewarded all. 

From the gi'eat to the small ; 
But look that the women 

And children you save. 
Dub a- dub, &c. 

The Spaniards at that sight, 

Saw 'twas in vain to fight, 
Hung up their flags of truce, 

Yielding the to\vn ; 
We march' d in presently, 

Decking the walls on high 
With our English colours. 

Which purchas'd renown. 
Dub a-dub, &c. 

Ent'ring the houses then 

And of the richest men. 
For gold and treasure 

We searched each day; 
In some places we did find 

Pye baking in the oven. 
Meat at the fire roasting, 

And men run away. 
Dub a-dub, &c. 


Full of rich merchandize, 

Every shop we did see, 
Damask and sattins 

And velvet full fair ; 
Which soldiers measure out 

By the length of their swords ; 
Of all commodities, 

Each one hath share. 
Dub a-dub, &c. 

Thus Gales was taken, 

And our brave general 
March' d to the market-place. 

There he did stand ; 
There many prisoners 

Of good account were took ; 
Many crav'd mercy, 

And mercy they found. 
Dub a-dub, &c. 

When as our general 

Saw they delayed time, 
And would not ransom 

The town as they said. 
With their fair wainscots, 

Their presses and bedsteads, 
Their joint-stools and tables, 

A fire we made : 
And when the town burnt in a flame, 

With tan-ta-ra, tan-ta-ra-rara, 
From thence we came. 




Setting forth her constancy and endless glory. 

When as Edward the third did live, 

That valiant king, 
David of Scotland to rebel 

Did then begin ; 
The to\Yn of Bar wick suddenly 

From us he won, 
And burnt Newcastle to the ground ; 

Thus strife begun : 
To Roxbury castle marcht he then. 
And by the force of warlike men, 

Besieg'd therein a gallant fair lady, 
While that her husband was in France, 
His country's honour to advance, 

The noble and famous earl of Salisbury. 

Brave Sir William Montague 

Rode then in haste, 
Who declared unto the king 

The Scottish men's boast; 
Who, like a lyon in his rage. 

Did straightway prepare 
For to deliver that fair lady 

From woful care ; 

or GOOD- WILL. 119 

But when the Scottish men did hear her say, 
Edward our king was come that day, 

Theyrais'd their siege, and ran away with speed ; 
So when that he did thither come, 
With warlike trumpet, fife and drum, 

None but a gallant lady did he meet indeed. 

Whom when he did with greedy eyes 

Behold and see. 
Her peerless beauty it inthrall'd 

His majesty ; 
And ever the longer that he lookt, 

The more he might ; 
For in her only beauty was 

His heart's delight: 
And humbly then upon her knee, 
She thank' d his royal majesty 

That he had driven danger from her gate. 
Lady, quoth he, stand up in peace ! 
Although my war doth now increase. 

Lord keep, quoth she, all hurt from your estate. 

Now is the king full sad in soul, 

And wots not why ; 
And for the love of the fair countess 

Of Salisbury ; 
She little knowing this cause of his grief, 

Did come to see 
Wherefore his highness sate alone 

So heavily ; 


I have been wrong' d, fair dame, quoth he, 
Since I came hither unto thee. 

No, God forbid ! my sovereign, said she ; 
If I were Avorthy for to know 
The cause and ground of this your woe, 

You should be helpt, if it did lie in me. 

Swear to perform thy word to me, 

Thou lady gay. 
To thee the sorrows of my heart 

I will bewray. 
I swear by all the saints in heaven 

I will (quoth she) ; 
And let my lord have no mistrust 

At all in me. 
Then take thyself aside, he said ; 
For why, thy beauty hath betray' d; 

Wounding a king with thy bright shining eye 
If thou do then some mercy show, 
Thou shalt expel a princely woe ; 

So shall I live, or else in sorrow die. 

You have your wish, my soveraign lord, 

Effectually ; 
Take all the leave that I can give 

Your Majesty. 
But on thy beauty all my joys 

Have their abode. 
Take thou my beauty from my face, 

My gracious lord. 


Didst thou not swear to grant my will r 
That I may, I will fulfil. 

All then for my love, let my true love be seen. 
My lord, your speech I might reprove ; 
You cannot give to me your love, 

For that belongs unto your queen. 

But I suppose your grace did this 

Only to try 
Whether a wanton tale might tempt 

Dame Salisbury; 
Not from yourself, therefore, my liege, 

My steps do stray. 
But from your wanton tempting tale, 

I go my way. 
O ! turn again, my lady bright ; 
Come unto me my heart's delight ! 

Gone is the comfort of my pensive heart : 
Here comes the earl of Warwick ; he. 
The father of this fair lady. 

My mind to him I mean for to impart. 

Why is my lord and sovereign king 

So griev'd in mind ? 
Because that I have lost the thing 

I cannot find. 
What thing is that, my gracious lord, 

Which you have lost ? 
It is my heart, which is near dead 

Betwixt fire and frost. 


Curst be that fire and frost also, 
That caused this your Highness woe. 

! Warwick, thou dost wrong me very sore ; 
It is thy daughter, noble earl. 

That heaven-bright lamp, that pearless pearl. 
Which kills my heart, yet do I her adore. 

If that be all, my gracious king. 

That works your grief, 
I will persuade the scornful dame 

To yield relief; 
Never shall she my daughter be 

If she refuse ; 
The love and favour of a king 

May her excuse. 
Thus wise War^^dck went away. 
And quite contrary he did say 

When as he did the beauteous countess meet. 
Well met, my daughter, then quoth he, 
A message I must do to thee ; 

Our royal king most kindly doth thee greet ; 

The king will die 'less thou to him 

Do grant thy love. 
To love the king, my husband's love 

1 would remove. 

It is right charity to love. 

My daughter dear. 
But no true love so charitable 

For to appear ; 


His greatness may bear out the shame, 
But his kingdom cannot buy out the blame ; 

He craves thy love, that may bereave thy life ; 
It is my duty to move this. 
But not thy honesty to yield, I ms. 

I mean to die a true unspotted wife ! 

Now hast thou spoken, my daughter dear, 

As I would have ; 
Chastity bears a golden name 

Unto the grave ; 
And when unto thy wedded lord 

Thou provest untrue, 
Then let my bitter curses still 

Thy soul pursue : 
Then with a smiling chear go thou, 
As right and reason doth allow ; 

Yet shew the king thou bear'st no strumpet's mind. 
I go, dear father, in a trice. 
And by a sleight of fine device, 

I'll cause the king confess I'm not unkind. 

Here comes the lady of my life, 

The king did say. 
My father bids me, sovereign lord, 

Your will obey ; 
And I consent, if you will grant 

One boon to me. 
I grant it thee, my lady fair, 

Whate'er it be. 


My husband is alive you know ; 
First let me kill him e'er I go, 

And I at your command will ever be. 
Thy husband now in France doth rest. 
No, no ; he lies within my breast, 

And being so nigh, he ^^'ill my falsehood see. 

With that she started from the king, 

And took her knife, 
And desperately she thought to rid 

Herself of life : 
The king he started from the chair, 

Her hand to stay : 
O ! noble king, you have broke your word 

With me this day. 
Thou shalt not do this deed, quoth he. 
Then never will I lie with thee. 

No ! then live still, and let me bear the blame ; 
Live in honour and high estate 
With thy true lord and wedded mate ; 

I never will attempt this suit again ! 




Will you hear a Spanish lady, 
How she woo'd an English man ? 

Garments gay, as rich as may be, 
Deck'd with jewels had she on; 

Of a comely countenance and grace was she ; 

And by birth and parentage of high degree. 

As his prisoner there he kept her. 

In his hands her life did lie ; 
Cupid's bands did tie her faster. 

By the liking of her eye ; 
In his courteous company was all her joy; 
To favour him in any thing she was not coy. 

At the last there came commandment 

For to set the ladies free ; 
With their jewels still adorned, 

None to do them injury : 
Alas ! then said this lady gay, full woe is me 
O ! let me still sustain this kind captivity. 

O ! gallant captain, shew some pity 

To a lady in distress ; 
Leave me not within the city 

For to die in heaviness ; 


Thou hast set this present day my body free, 
But my heart in prison strong remains with thee. 

How should' st thou, fair lady, love me, 
Whom thou know'st thy country's foe ? 

Thy fair words make me suspect thee ; 
Serpents are where flowers grow. 

All the evil I think to thee, most gracious knight, 

God grant unto myself the same may fully light. 

Blessed be the time and season 

That you came on Spanish ground : 

If you may our foes be termed. 
Gentle foes we have you found : 

With our cities, you have won our hearts each one ; 

Then to your country, bear away that is your own. 

Best you still, most gallant lady, 
Best you still, and weep no more ; 

Of fair lovers there are plenty ; 

Spain doth yield a wondrous store. 

Spaniards fraught with jealousie we often find; 

But English men throughout the world are counted 

Leave me not unto a Spaniard, 

You alone enjoy my heart; 
I am lovely, young, and tender. 

And so love is my desert ; 
Still to serve thee day and night my mind is prest ; 
The "svife of every English man is counted blest. 


It would be a shame, fair lady, 

For to bear a woman hence ; 
English soldiers never carry 

Any such without offence. 
I will quickly change myself, if it be so. 
And like a page I'll follow thee where'er thou go. 

I have neither gold nor silver 

To maintain thee in this case ; 
And to travel, 'tis great charges, 

As you know, in every place. 
My chains and jewels every one shall be thine own ; 
And eke ten thousand pounds in gold, that lies 

On the seas are many dangers. 

Many storms do there arise. 
Which will be to ladies dreadful. 

And force tears from wat'ry eyes. 
Well, in worth, I could endure extremity ; 
For I could find in heart to lose my life for thee. 

Courteous lady, be contented ; 

Here comes all that breeds the strife ; 
I, in England, have already 

A sweet woman to my wife : 
I will not falsifie my vow for gold or gain, 
Nor yet for all the fairest dames that live in Spain. 

Oh ! how happy is that woman 
That enjoys so true a friend ; 


Many days of joy God send you ! 

Of my suit I'll make an end : 
Upon my knees I pardon crave for this offence, 
Which love and true affection did first commence. 

Commend me to thy loving lady ; 

Bear to her this chain of gold, 
And these bracelets for a token ; 

Grieving that I was so bold : 
All my jewels, in like sort, bear thou with thee ; 
For these are fitting for thy wife, and not for me : 

I will spend my days in prayer, 

Love and all her laws defie ; 
In a nunnery will I shroud me. 

Far from other company ; 
But ere my prayers have end, be sure of this, 
For thee and for thy love I will not miss. 

Thus farewel ! most gentle captain, 

And farewel my heart's content; 
Count not Spanish ladies wanton, 

Though to thee my love was bent. 
Joy and true prosperity go still -with thee ; 
The like fall ever to thy share, most fair lady. 

or GOOD-WILL. 129 



Farewel, false love, the oracle of lies, 

A mortal foe, an enemy to rest ; 
An envious boy, from whence great cares arise, 

A bastard vile, a beast with rage possest ; 
A way for error, a tempest full of treason. 
In all respect contrary unto reason. 

A poison'd serpent cover' d all with flowers; 

Mother of sighs, and murtherer of repose ; 
A sea of sorrows, whence run all such showers 

As moisture gives to every grief that grows ; 
A school of guile, a nest of deep deceit ; 
A golden hook that holds a poison'd bait : 

A fortress fled, which reason did defend ; 

A S}Ten's song, a servage of the mind ; 
A maze wherein afllictions find no end ; 

A raging cloud that runs before the wind ; 
A substance like the shadow of the sun ; 
A goal of grief for which the wisest run ; 

A quenchless fire, a nurse of trembling fear ; 

A path that leads to peril and mishap ; 
A true retreat of sorrow and despair ; 

An idle boy that sleeps in pleasure's lap ; 
A deep mistrust of that which certain seems ; 
A hope of that which reason doubtful deems. 



Then since thy reign my younger years betray' d, 
And for my faith ingratitude I find, 

And such repentance hath the wrong bewray' d, 
Whose crooked course hath not been over kind, 

False love go back, and beauty frail, adieu. 

Dead is the root from which such fancies grew. 



The lover by his gifts thinks to conquer chastity ; 
And with his gifts sends these verses to his Lid}-. 

What face so fair that is not carkt with gold ? 

What wit so worthy has not in gold its wonder ? 
What learning but with golden lines doth hold ? 

What state so high, but gold could bring it under ? 
What thought so sweet but gold doth better season ? 
And what rule better than the golden reason ? 

The ground is fat that yields the golden fruit. 
The study high that sets the golden state ; 

The labour sweet that gets the golden suit. 

The reckoning rich that scorns the golden rate ; 

The love is sure that golden hope doth hold. 

And rich again that serves the god of gold. 




Foul is the face whose beauty gold can grace, 
Worthless the wit that hath gold in her wonder ; 

Unlearned lines put gold in honour's place, 

Wicked the state that will to coin come under ; 

Bad the conceit that season' d is with gold, 

And beggar's rule that such a reason hold. 

Earth gives the gold, but heaven gives greater grace ; 

Men study wealth, but angels wisdom praise ; 
Labour seeks peace, love hath an higher place, 

Death makes the reck'ning, life is all my race ; 
Thy hope is here ; my hope of heaven doth hold ; 
God give me grace, let Dives die with gold. 



Editions of the Garland of Good-Will. Dr. Rimbault 
has favoured the editor with the following account of post- 
humous editions of the Garland : the information was 
received too late for the Preface. 

An edition dated 1631. This is in black letter, and is in 
the Bodleian Library. [Said to be printed by Eliz. Allde.] 

Edition datedl659. Black letter. Printed for J. Wright. 
A copy, supposed to be unique, is in the possession of J. A. 
Repton, Esq., of Springfield House, Chelmsford. 

Edition dated 1678. Black letter. [This is fully de- 
scribed in our preface ; and being by the same publisher as 
the one of 1659, it is probably a reprint. The design on 
the title-page is also found in the title-page of Deloney's 
Thomas of Reading. 1632.] 

Edition of 1685. Printed by J. Millett. A copy was 
sold at Heber's sale, and afterwards appeared in Thorpe's 
Catalogue, 1836. No other copy is known, nor can it be 
ascertained who is the present possessor. 

Edition of 1688. A copy is believed to be in the Pepysian 
Library. [This edition is probably one of Wright's.] 

Edition of 1696. No information can be obtained re- 
specting it. [Is it not identical with the next-named' edi- 
tion ?] 

Edition of 1709. Printed for G. Conyers. [This is de- 
scribed in our preface. It is without date, and the Editor 
of the present edition agrees with Dr. Rimbault in believing 

134 NOTES. 

it to be of no earlier date than 1709 ; but as 1696 has been 
assigned as its real date, may it not be the same as that 
described as of 1696, supra ?'\ No particulars can be ob- 
tained of any editions published in the author's lifetime, 
nor of any editions printed subsequently to that of Conyers. 

Page 10, 1. 1. The floiver-de-huce in CheajJside. The house 
of Jane Shore was in Ludgate, in or near Flower-de-luce 
court, which no longer exists, its site being now occupied 
by the London Coffee House. She was, according to a letter 
of Richard III, which is preserved in the Harleian MSS. 
the wife of William Shore, a goldsmith : the Fleur-de-lis, 
to speak heraldically, was always represented as Argent or 
Or, and was, therefore, a fitting sign to designate the 
calling of her husband. 

Page 12. A song of king Edgar. Mason's lyric drama 
of Elfrida is founded on this ballad, as are also two very 
heavy dramatic affairs by Aaron Hill. It would appear from 
the following extract that Deloney's ballad is founded on a 
passage in William of Malmsbury's Chronicle, 

" There was," says the historian, " in his [Edgar's] time, 
one Athelwold, a nobleman of great celebrity, and one of 
his confidants. The king had commissioned him to visit 
Elfthrida, daughter of Ordgar, duke [chieftain] of Devon- 
shire, (whose charms had so fascinated the eyes of some 
persons, that they commended her to the king) and to offer 
her marriage, if her beauty were really equal to report. 
Hastening on his embassy, and finding every thing con- 
sonant to general estimation, he concealed his mission from 
her parents, and procured the damsel for himself. Returning 
to the king, he told a tale which made for his own purpose, 
that she was a girl nothing out of the common track of 

NOTES. 135 

beauty, and by uo means worthy of such transcendant 
dignity. When Edgar's heart was disengaged from this 
affair, and employed on other amours, some tattlers 
acquainted him how completely Athelwold had duped him 
by his artifices. Paying him in his own coin, that is, 
returning him deceit for deceit, he showed the earl a fair 
countenance, and, as in a sportive manner, appointed a day 
when he would visit his far-famed lady. Terrified almost 
to death with this dreadful pleasantry, he hastened before 
to his wife, entreating that she would administer to his 
safety by attiring herself as unbecomingly as possible ; then 
first disclosing the intention of such a proceeding. But 
what did not this woman dare ? She was hardy enough to 
deceive the confidence of her first lover, her first husband, 
to call up every charm by art, and to omit nothing which 
would stimulate the desire of a young and powerful man. 
Nor did events happen contrary to her design. For he fell 
so desperately in love with her the moment he saw her, 
that, dissembling his indignation, he sent for the earl into 
a wood at Wharewelle [Whorwell, Hants] called Harewood, 
under pretence of hunting, and ran him through with a 
javelin ; and when the illegitimate son of the murdered 
nobleman approached with his accustomed familiarity, and 
was asked by the king how he liked that kind of sport, he 
is reported to have said, ' Well, my sovereign liege, I 
ought not to be displeased with that which gives you 
pleasui-e.' This answer so assuaged the mind of the 
raging monarch, that, for the remainder of his life, he held 
no one in greater estimation than this young man ; mitiga- 
ting the offence of this tyrannical deed against the father by 
royal solicitude for the son. In expiation of this crime, a 
monastery, which was built on this spot by Elfthrida, is 
inhabited by a large congregation of nuns." See Dr. 

136 NOTES. 

Giles's translation of Malmshury' s Chronicle. Bohn's Edi- 
tion. London, 1847 ; pp. 159-60. 

Page 18. How Coventry was made free, &c. This 
popular legend does not seem to have the slightest historical 
foundation. AYilliam of Malmsbury, and other church 
historians, relate the munificent gifts of Leofric and his 
wife Godifa, such as their founding monasteries at Coventry 
and elsewhere, but are wholly silent on the subject of the 
lady's equestrian performance in iniris naturalibits. 

Page 21. The duke of CornwaVs daughter. This tale 
appears to be taken from the chronicle of Geoffrey of 
Monmouth. See Bohn's Edition. London, 1848, p. 109. 

Page 30. The banishment of the two dukes of Hereford 
and Norfolk. This story is related by several of the old 
chroniclers, who are not agreed as to the catastrophe. 

Page 36, 1. 17. Hoised sail. The phrase is found in 
Shakespeare and Ben Johnson, and in several other writers 
of the Elizabethan era. Evans, from sheer ignorance, see 
his Old Ballads, has altered the word "hoised" to hoisted ! 
The commonest school dictionary, if he had consulted it, 
would have taught him better. 

Page 38. The nolle acts of Arthur, (&c. It will be seen 
from the following extract, that this ballad is a poetical 
and tolerably literal version of portions of three chapters 
in La Mort H" Arthur, by Sir Thos. Malory, Knt., (1 485.) 

" And so Sir Launcelot departed, and, by adventure, came 
into the same forest whereas he was taken sleeping. And 
in the midst of an highway he met with a damsel riding 

NOTES. 137 

upon a white palfrey, and either saluted other. ' Fair 

damsel, ' said Sir Launcelot, ' know ye in this country any 

adventures V ' Sir knight, ' said the damsel to Sir Launcelot, 

' here are adventures near hand, an thou durst prove 

them 1' 'Why should I not prove adventures'?' said Sir 

Launcelot, ' as for that cause came I hither. ' ' Well, ' said 

the damsel, ' thou seemest well to be a right good knight, 

and if thou dare meet with a good knight, I shall bring 

thee whereas the best knight is, and the mightiest that ever 

thou found ; so that thou wilt tell me what thy name is, 

and of what country and knight thou art. ' 'Damsel, as for 

to tell thee my name, I take no great force : truly, my 

name is Sir Launcelot du Lake!' 'Sir, thou beseemest 

well ; here be adventures that be fallen for thee ; for hereby 

dwelleth a knight that will not be over-matched for no man 

that I know, but ye over match him. And his name is Sir 

Turquine ; and, as I understood, he hath in his prison, of 

king Arthur's court, good knights three score and four 

that he hath won with his own hands. But when ye have 

done this toui'nay, ye shall promise me, as ye are a true 

knight, for to go with me, and help me and other damsels 

that are distressed with a false knight.' 'All your intent 

and desire, damsel, I will fulfil, so that ye will bring me to 

this knight.' 'Now, fair knight, come on your way!' 

And so she brought him unto the ford, and unto the tree 

whereon the bason hung. So Sir Launcelot let his horse 

drink ; and after, he beat on the bason with the end of his 

spear so hard, and with such a might, that he made the 

bottom fall out, and long he did so, but he saw nothing. 

Then he rode endlong the gates of the manor well nigh 

half an hour. And then was he ware of a great knight that 

drove an horse afore him, and overthwart the horse lay an 

armed knight bound. And ever, as they came nearer and 

138 XOTES. 

nearer, Sir Launcelot thought he should know him ; then 
Sir Launcelot was ware that it was Sir Gaheris, Sir Gawaine's 
brother, a knight of the Tahle Round. ' Now, fair damsel,' 
said Sir Launcelot, ' I see yonder comes a knight fast 
bound, which is a fellow of mine, and brother he is unto 
Sir Gawaine ; and at the first beginning I promise you, by 
the leave of God, to rescue that knight ; but if his master 
set the better in the saddle, I shall deliver all the prisoners 
out of danger ; for I am sure that he hath two brethren of 
mine prisoners with him. ' By that time that either had 
seen other, they took their spears unto them. ' Now, fair 
knight, ' said Sir Launcelot, ' put that wounded knight from 
thy horse, and let him rest awhile, and then let us two 
prove our strength together. For as it is informed and 
shewed me, thou doest, and hast done great despite and 
shame unto the knights of the Round Table, and, therefore, 
defend thee now shortly. ' ' An thou be of the Round 
Tahle, ' said Sir Turquine, ' I defy thee and all thy fellow- 
ship V ' That is over much, ' said Sir Launcelot. 

" And then they put their spears in their rests, and came 
together with their horses as fast as it was possible for them 
to run, and either smote other in the midst of their shields, 
that both their horses' backs burst under them ; whereof 
the knights were both astonied ; and as soon as they might 
avoid their horses, they took their shields afore them, and 
drew out their swords, and came together eagerly ; and 
either gave other many strokes, for there might neither 
shields nor harness hold their dints. And so within awhile 
they had both grimly wounds, and bled passing grievously. 
Thus they fared two hours or more trasing, and rasing, 
either other where they might hit any bare place. At the 
last they were both breathless, and stood leaning on their 
swords. ' Now fellow, ' said Sir Turquine, ' hold thy hand 

NOTES. 139 

awhile, and tell me what I shall ask thee. ' ' Say on, ' said 
Sir Launcelot. ' Thou art, ' said Sir Turquine, ' the biggest 
man that ever I met withal, and the best breathed ; and 
like one knight that I hate above all other knights, and 
that thou be not he, I will lightly accord with thee ; and 
for thy love I will deliver all thy prisoners that I have, that 
is three score and four, so that thou wilt tell me thy name, 
and thou and I we will be fellows together, and never fail 
thee while I live. ' ' It is well said, ' quoth Sir Launcelot, 
' but sithence it is so that I may have thy friendship, what 
knight is he that thou hatest above all other 1 ' ' Truly, ' 
said Sir Turquine, ' his name is Launcelot du Lake ; for 
he slew my brother, Sir Carados, at the dolorous tower, 
which was one of the best knights then living, and, therefore, 
I him except of all knights ; for an I may once meet with 
him, that one of us shall make an end of other, and to that 
I make a vow. And for Sir Launcelot's sake I have slain 
an hundi'ed good knights, and as many I have utterly 
maimed, that never after they might help themselves, and 
many have died in my prison, and yet I have three score 
and four, and all shall be delivered so that thou wilt tell me 
thy name, and so it be that thou be not Sir Launcelot. ' 
' Now see I well, ' said Sir Launcelot, ' that such a man I 
might be, I might have peace ; and such a man I might 
be, there should be between us two mortal war ; and now, 
Sir knight, at thy request, I will that thou wit and know 
that I am Sir Launcelot du Lake, king Ban's son of 
Benwicke, and knight of the Hound Table. And now I 
defy thee, do thy best, ' ' Ah ! ' said Sir Turquine, ' Launcelot^ 
thou art unto me most welcome as ever was any knight, for 
we shall never depart till the one of us be dead.' And 
then hurtled they together as two wild bulls, rushing and 
lashing with their shields and swords, that sometimes they 

140 NOTES, 

fell both on their noses. Thus they fought still two hours 
and more, and never would rest, and Sir Turquine gave Sir 
Launcelot many wounds, that all the ground, there as they 
fought, was all besprinkled with blood. Then, at the last, 
Sir Turquine waxed very faint, and gave somewhat back, 
and bare his shield full low for weariness. That soon espied 
Sir Launcelot, and then lept upon him fiercely as a lion, 
and got him by the banner of his helmet, and so he plucked 
him down on his knees, and, anon, rased of his helm, and 
then he smote his neck asunder." — La Morte D'' Arthur. 
Part 1, cap. 108-9-10 ; Edit. London, 1816, pp. 227-31. 

Page 71. The Sinner's Redemption. In a copy of this 
popular carol in the Roxburgh collection, it is said to be 
" To the tune of My Bleeding Heart, or, In Greet". The 
carol is ancient, but much more modern than the time of 
Deloney. The Editor of the present work has been favoured 
with a communication from W. Sandys, Esq., F.S.A., (the 
compiler of the best collection of carols extant), from which 
the following is an extract : — " The carol, ' All you that 
are to mirth inclined', is rather a favourite, and has been, 
I expect, regularly printed at the Christmas anniversary 
for many years back. I got two copies, with a great many 
other MS. carols, from an harmonious (but I fear bibulous) 
blacksmith in the west of Cornwall some five-and-twenty 
years since. Davies Gilbert, F.R.S., published a copy in 
his small collection. I have, I believe, three copies by 
Bloomer of Birmingham, (with variations) and broadside 
copies by Pitts, Thomson, and Batchelar of London. The 
copy printed in my Carols, p. 84, is shorter than these 
(except Gilbert's) by several verses ; as I adopted the 
shortest copy I got from Rowe the blacksmith. My copy 
also differs somewhat from that in The Garland, where it is 

NOTES. 141 

called the Sinner's Redemption, which name is retained to 
the present time," Mr. Sandys, in the same communica- 
tion, observes, " I looked into Deloney's book previous to 
printing, but I could not meet with a black-letter copy". 
This carol is also to be found in a small, but very good col- 
lection of carols, without date, but printed at Bilston, and 
entitled, " A new Carol Book for Christmas". 

Page 76. A wonderfvl Prophesie, Jjc. A broadside copy 
of this production is preserved in the Roxburgh collection. 
It bears the imprint of John White of Newcastle-on-Tyne, 
and is therefore no older than the close of the last century ; 
it may be a transcript of the original, but whether so or not, 
it contains the following verification of the story ! " The 
names of the masters of the parish who saw the maid on 
her death-bed, and heard the words of the prophecy which 
she declared, were as followeth : W. Wates, curate, T. 
Davies, head constable, R. Wilkins, and C. Jenner, church- 
wardens, who, by consent of divers others in the same 
parish, which were in the presence at the damsel's decease, 
caused a letter to be written, and sent it from thence to 
London on purpose to have it printed ; thereby to avoid 
scandal. Contrived in metre by L, P." These initials (if 
correct) enable us to ascertain the author and the date of 
the composition, for L. P. were the initials used by LaAvrence 
Price, a popular ballad- writer, who flourished between 1642 
and 1673. He wrote many chap-books, and one which still 
retains its fame, viz.. The famous History of Valentine and 
Orson. The Rev. Richard Tyacke, the present clergyman 
of Padstow, says, " There is no tradition whatever existing 
in this place in regard to the legend of the maid of Pad- 
stow ; but James is a parochial name : Jenner and Wilkins 
arc not, and do not seem ever to have been so." We may 

142 NOTES. 

tUerefore conclude that the story is a fiction, and that the 
ballad is what the flying stationers term " a cock". 

Page 89. A pleasant song between Plain Truth and 
Blind Ignorance. Percy calls the language put into the 
mouth of " Ignorance" the Somersetshire dialect, and sup- 
poses the scene to be Glastonbury Abbey ; but the so-pre- 
sumed Somerset dialect is nothing more than the patois 
which all our old dramatists are in the habit of putting 
into the mouths of their countrymen, and to localize which 
would be about as easy a task as an attempt to localize 
the strange jargon used by the countrymen of our modern 
playwrights. By learned doctor, see page 94, 1. 8, is evidently 
meant Dr. Martin Luther. In the last verse of the song, 
Percy has improved i)iQ theology hj conjectural emendation. 
The present Editor, however, has stuck to the text, bearing 
in mind that the speaker is " Ignorance", who, though 
styled by some the parent of devotion, is certainly not a 
very orthodox commentator. 

Page 103. A princely ditty, &c. This song is evidently 
in honour of queen Elizabeth, though said " to be translated 
from the French". It may probably be of French origin, but 
the Editor has not been able to trace it. 

Page 105. Fancy and Desire. This poem is by Edward 
Vere, earl of Oxford ; for further information respecting 
the author, who flourished in the reign of Elizabeth, the 
reader is referred to Percy's Heliques, Vol. i, Book 1. 

Page 107. Crahhed Age and Youth. The first verse is 
found in Shakespeare's Passionate Pilgy-im, Sind therefore the 
song has always been ascribed to our great bard ; but as many of 

NOTES. 143 

the songs scattered over the plays and poems of Shakespeare 
are known to be the productions of his contemporaries, as 
Marlowe and others, the Editor must require some stronger 
evidence than any which has yet been adduced, to satisfy 
him that Deloney is not the author of Crabbed Age and 
Youth. As a proof that the Passionate Pilgrim has no 
claim to be considered the entire production of Shakspeare, 
it is only necessary to point out that it contains Marlowe's 
well-known song, " CoTne live ivith me and be my love''\ No 
author was more quoted by the Elizabethan dramatists than 

Page 111. As you came from the Holy Land. In the 
Bodleian Library (MS. Rawl. Poet. 85, fol. 124) is a copy 
of this ballad, wdth " W. R." appended to it, and therefore 
certain antiquaries have jumped to the conclusion that Sir 
Walter Raleigh is the author. Percy takes no notice of 
the claim set up for Raleigh, nor does it appear to be gene- 
rally known. Dr. Bliss, in his edition of the Athence Oxon- 
ienses, ii, 248, prints the ballad from the Bodleian MS., but 
he evidently did not know of the copy in Deloney's Garland; 
and the Rev. J. Hannah, in his edition of Poems of Wotton, 
Raleigh, and others, also prints from the same MS., and 
ascribes the poem to Raleigh I Surely our old minstrel 
poet is not to be robbed of his claim to the ballad, on such 
slender authority as the existence of a manuscript (written 
by nobody knows whom), merely because it happens to be 
signed " W. R." 

Page 113. The Winning of Cales. The victory cele- 
brated in this very spirited sea song was gained on the 21st 
June, l-OOG. In both editions of the Garland (See Preface) 
the burden is " Englishmen comes''\ Percy, who corrected 

144 NOTES. 

his copy by the reading of the celebrated folio manuscript, 
gives the chorus as it is in the preceding pages, thinking, 
no doubt, that it was even better to follow a manuscript of 
very questionable authority, than to perpetuate a violation 
of grammar. 

Page 125. The Spanish ladifs love. According to some 
accounts, the hero of this ballad was of the family of the 
Pophams of Littlecot : another tradition represents one of 
the Levisons of Trentham as the hero ; and another legend 
would have us believe that the hero was one of the family 
of Bolte, of Thorpe Hall, Lincolnshire. The story is a very 
common one, and is probably the invention of the poet. 
The reader will find the evidence in favour of the various 
claimants in Percy's Reliques, Vol. i, Part 2, and also in 
'^ivoib2iv\t''& Musiccd Illustrations of Percy'' s Reliques (Cramer 
and Co., London, 1850), a work of considerable research, and 
well deserving the notice of all admirers of our ancient 

Page 126, 1. 25. Prest, i.e., ready. As in the fine old 
version of the 104th Psalm, 

" Lightnings to seiTe, we see also prest." 

Page 129. A Farewel to Love. This is set to music by 
AVm. Byrd, and was published by him as a madrigal in 
1588. Byrd's copy does not contain the last verse, and the 
other stanzas are given with considerable variations. 



STfje ffiarlantr of ®ootJ=aEill 

Page 1. Flying Fame. This is one of the tunes to which 
Chevy Chace was sung. It is reprinted in Chappell's 
National English Airs. 

Page 9. The Hunt is up. The ballad is in a different 
measure to that of the song The Hunt is up, printed by Mr. 
John Payne Collier in his Extracts from the Registers of the 
Stationers'' Company, and could not be sung to the same 
tune. It is probably the air often referred to as " Shore's 
Wife", but which has not been recovered. 

Page 12. Laha7idulishot. This tune is nuntio7ied in 
A Handefull of Pleasant Delites, 1584, and that is all we 
know about it. The meaning of the word '• Labandulishot" 
is a mystery, and likely to remain so. 

Page 18. Prince Arthur died at Ludlovi. This tune 
cannot be traced ; although from the number of ballads 
directed to be sung to it, it may probably exist under some 
other name. 


Page 21. In Greece. This is the same tune as " Queen 
Dido". See Musical Illustrations to Percy'' s Reliques : it is 
still a popular ballad tune, and in the north of England 
" The Bowes Tragedy", and other dolorous ditties, are 
chanted to it by village crones. 

Page 46. The Ghost'' s Hearse. Nothing is known of this 

Page 49. Robiiison's Almain. A tune composed by 
Thomas Robinson, Lutenist, author of The Schoole of 
Musiche^ 1603, and New Citharen Lessons, 1609. 

Page 52. Crimson Velvet. This tune will be found in 
Friesche Lust-hof, 1634, and is reprinted in Rimbault's 
Musical Illustrations to Percy's Reliques of Ancient Poetry. 

Page 68. Hey ho, holiday. This tune may be found in 
Pavans, Galliards, Almains, and other short Airs £c., made 
hy Anthony Holborne, 1599. 

Page 71. The Sinner's Redemption, is, according to the 
Roxburgh copy (see p. 140 ante), to be sung " to the tune 
of My Bleeding Heart, or In Greet". Dr. Rimbault thinks 
that two tunes are here alluded to ; neither of them is known. 
The carol is now generally sung to a tune which is a version 
of the one sung to " Death and the Lady". 

Page 76. In, Summer-time. There are several tunes 
called by this name, but the only known one to which this 
ballad could be sung, is contained in Hall's Courte of Vertue, 
a godly antidote to The Courte of Venus, and printed in 
1565. It is, however, very questionable whether the bar- 


barous tune in Hall's book is the one alluded to at page 76. 
The airs contained in The Courte of Vertue are puzzles, even 
to a musical antiquary, and it is a difficult matter to decide 
whether they are ballad or psalm tunes ; if the latter, they 
certainly seem more adapted for the accompaniment of the 
'•'Pig Virginal", described in Bayle's Dictionary, and 
Avison's Treatise on Musical Expression, than for the organ. 

Page 82. The Bride's Good Morroio. This tune has not 
been- recovered. 

Page 111. As I came from Walsinghani. The tune of 
Walsingham is to be found in Queen Elizabeth's Virginal 
book, and is reprinted in Chappell's National English Airs. 

Page 113. The Winning of Gales. Dr. Rimbault iden- 
tifies this tune with Tantara rara masks all, by a manu- 
script Virginal book (temp. James I) in his possession. 
See Musical Illustrations to Percy's Reliques of Ancient 
Poetry, p. 23. If this tune were introduced on the stage 
with appropriate musical accompaniments, it could not fail 
of becoming popular. The following arrangement is by 
Joseph Hart, Jun., Esq., the author of " I'd rather be an 
Englishman", &c. &c. 

Page 125. The Spanish Lady. This truly beautiful 
tune is contained in several of the ballad operas printed 
about 1798, and will be found in Chappell's National 
English Airs. The following arrangement is by Mr. Joseph 
Hart, Jun. 

Page 129. A farewell to Love. See note page 144. 



















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Wi}t ^^crcg Societg. 







T. CROFTON CROKER, Esq., F.S.A., M.R.I.A., Treasurer. 



W. D. HAGGARD, Esq., F.S.A. 

JAMES ORCHARD HALLIWELL, Esq., F.R.S., F.S.A., Secretary. 



JAMES PRIOR, Esq., F.S.A., M.R.I.A. 



THO;i[AS WRIGHT, Esq., M.A., F.S.A. 


The verses, now for the first time printed, are 
from a neatly written manuscript, bound up with 
a copy of the first edition of Browne's Pastorals", 
foL, Lond., 1613-16, preserved in the library of 
Salisbury Cathedral. This manuscript was first 
pointed out to public notice by one of our 
members, Mr. Botfield, in his excellent work on 
cathedral libraries, and is there considered to be 
Browne's own composition. 

An attentive perusal of the poem has, however, 
led some of the Editor's friends to entertain doubts 
on this subject; not merely from the notices of 
" Willy", which might probably be explained 
away as examples of poetical license, but from the 
character of the composition, which, nevertheless, 
it is submitted, will bear comparison in poetical 
merit with any of Browne's verses. The reader 
will now have as good an opportunity to form his 
own judgment as the Editor, who prefers rather 
to leave the consideration of any debateable ques- 
tion to the members of the Percy Society than to 


offer a decisive opinion which might be liable to 
be controverted by subsequent research. 

The especial thanks of the Percy Society are 
due to the Dean and Chapter of Salisbury for the 
liberal manner in which they have been pleased 
to permit the original volume to be used. 

And it only remains for the Editor to observe, 
that after the charges made, without communica- 
tion, under the mask of friendly criticism, in a 
volume issued -^^dth the sanction of the Shake- 
spere Society, against him as the Editor of an 
unpublished manuscript of Massinger's, he would 
have hesitated again to appear before the mem- 
bers of the Percy Society as the transcriber 
and Editor of another unpublished manuscript, 
had not Mr. Halliwell, their zealous secretary, 
conferred on the Society the important favour of 
correcting the proof sheets from the Editor's 
transcript, and of collating them with the original 

T. Crofton Croker. 


•3, Gloucester Road, 
Old Brompton, 

\^th February, 1852. 




Thrice had the pale fac'd Cinthia fiU'd her homes, 
And through the circling zodiaque, which adornes 
Heaven's goodly frame, the horses of the sun 
A fourth parte of their race had fiercely run, 
Since faire Marina lefte her gentle flocke ; 
Whose too untymely losse, the watchfuU cock 
Noe oftner gave a summons to the daye, 
Then some kinde shepheard on the fertill ley 
Tooke a sadd seate, and, mth a drowned eye, 
Bemoan'd in heart farre more then elegie. 

Heere sitts a shepheard, whose mellifluous tongue, 
On shaded bancks of rivers, whilome sung 
Many sweet layes to her harmonious eare ; 
Recounting former joyes, when she liv'd there, 
With present woes, and every pleasure gone 
Tells with a hundred teares, and, those dropps done, 
A thowsand sighes ensue, and gives not o're 
Untill he faints, and soe can sighe noe more. 

Yonder, another, on some swelling hill, 
Records her sweet prayse to a gentle rill, 


Which, in requitall, takes noe little payne 
To roule her silver sands up to the swayne ; 
And almost wept, that tyme would not permitt 
That beautious mayde to bathe herselfe in it ; 
Whose touch made streames, and men, and plants 

more prowde, 
Then he that clasp' d the Juno- seeming clowde. 

Amongst the rest (that ere the sun did shyne 
Sought the thick groves) neglectfull Celadyne 
Was come abroade ; and underneath a tree, 
Dead as his joyes, and from all moysture free 
As were the fountaynes of his lovely eyes, 
With lavish weeping, discontented lyes. 

Now, like a prodigall, he myndes in vayne 
What he hath lost, and cannot lose againe. 
Now thinckes he on her eyes, like some sadd wight. 
Which new^e strooke blynde bemones the want of light. 
Her cheekes, her lipps, to mj^nde he doth recall. 
As one in exile cleane bereav'd of all. 
Her modest graces, her affection more, 
That wounds him most which onely can restore. 
And lastly, to his pipe (which woods nor playnes 
Acquainted not, but with the saddest straynes, 
Yet he more sadd then song or places can) 
Vary'd his playntes, and thus anewe began : — 

Marina's gone, and no we sitt I, 

As Philomela (on a thorne, 
Turn'd out of nature's livery), 

Mirthles, alone, and all forlorne : 


Onely she sings not, while my sorrowes can 
Breathe forth such notes as fitt a dyeing swan. 

Soe shutts the marigold her leaves 

At the departure of the sun ; 
Soe from the hony-suckle sheaves 
The bee goes when the day is done ; 
Soe sitts the turtle when she is but one, 
And soe all woe, as I since she is gone. 

To some fewe birds, kinde Nature hath 

Made all the summer as one daye ; 
Which once enjoy' d, colde winter's wrath, 
As night, they sleeping passe away. 
Those happy creatures are, that knowe not yet 
The payne to be depriv'd or to forgett. 

I ofte have heard men saye there be 

Some, that with confidence professe 
The helpfull Art of Memorie ; 

But could they teach forgetfulnesse, 
I'de learne, and try what further art coulde doe. 
To make me love her and forgett her too. 

Sadd melancholy, that perswades 

Men from themselves, to thincke they be 
Headlesse, or other bodyes shades, 

Hath long and booties dwelt with me ; 
For coulde I thincke she some idea weare, 
I still might love, forgett, and have her heere. 

V. 2 


But such she is not : nor would I, 

For twice as many torments more, 
As her bereaved companye 

Hath brought to those I felt before, 
For then noe future tyme might hap to knowe 
That she deserv'd, or I did love her soe. 

Yee houres, then, but as minutes be ! 
(Though soe I shall be sooner olde) 
Till I those lovely graces see, 

"Which, but in her, can none beholde ; 
Then be an age ! that we maye never trye 
More griefe in parting, but growe olde and dye. 

Heere ceas'd the shepheard's song, but not his woe ; 
Griefe never ends ytselfe. And he doth knowe 
Nothing but tyme or msdome to allaye yt ; 
Tyme could not then ; the other should not stay yt. 

Thus sitts the haples swayne: now sighes, now sings. 
Sings, sighes, and weepes at once. Then from the 

Of pitty beggs his pardon. Then his eye, 
(Wronging his oraizons) some place hard by 
Informes his intellect, where he hath seen 
His mistris feed her flock, or on the green 
Dance to the merry pype : this drives him thence 
As one distracted with the violence 
Of some hote fever, casts his clothes awaye, 
Longs for the thing he loath' d but yesterdaye, 


And fondly thincking 'twill his fitts appease, 
Changeth his bedd, but keepes still the disease. 
Quitting the playnes to seeke the gloomy springs, 
He, like a swan that on Meander sings, 
Takes congey of his mates with ling'ring haste. 
To finde some streame where he maye sing his last. 

Soe have I lefte my Tavy's flow'ry shore, 
Farre-flowing Thamisis, and many more 
Attractive pleasures which sweet England yeelds, 
Her peopled cittyes and her fertill fields. 
For Amphitrite's playnes ; those hath myne eye 
Chang' d for our whilome fields of Normandy ; 
For Seyne, those have I lefte ; for Loyre, the Seyne ; 
And for the Thoiie changed Loyre againe ; 
Where, to the nymphes of Poictou, now I sing 
A stranger note (yet such as ev'ry spring 
Roules smiling to attend) for none of those 
Yet have I lessen'd or exchang'd my woes. 
Deere, dearest isle, from the I pass'd awaye 
But as a shadowe, when the eye of daye 
Shynes otherwhere ; for she, whose I have been. 
By her declining makes me live unseen. 
Nor doe I hope that any other light 
Can make me her's ; the pallid queen of night. 
And Venus (or some erre), maye, with their rayes. 
Force an observing shade, but none of these 
(Meteors to my sett sun) can ever have 
That powre thou hadst. Sweet soule, thy silent grave 
I give my best verse, if a shepheard's witt 
Can make a dead hand capable of yt. 


Chaste were our loves, as mutuall ; nor did we 
Hardly dreame otherwise : our secrecye 
Such, as I thincke the world hath never knowne 
I had a mistris, till that I had none. 

Poore Celadyne and I (but happyer he), 
Onely in dreames meet our felicitie ; 
Our joyes but shadowes are ; our constant woes 
The daye she we s reall ; O, unhappy those ! 
Thrice, thrice unhappy whoe are ever taking 
Their joyes in sleepe, but are most wretched waking. 

Seated at last neere Tavy's silver streame, 
Sleepe seis'd our shepheard ; and in sleepe, a dreame 
Shew'd him Marina all bedew' d wdth teares ; 
Pale, as the lilly of the field appeares 
When the unkist morne from the mountaynes topps 
Sees the sweet flowres distill their silver dropps. 
She seem'd to take him by the hand and saye, 
O CeladjTie, this, this is not the waye 
To recompence the wrong which thou hast done 
And I have pardon' d, since yt was begun 
To exercise my virtue ; I am thine 
More then I msh'd, or thou canst now devine. 
Seeke out the aged Lama, by whose skill 
Thou mayst our fortunes know, and what the will 
Of fate is in thy future. This she spoke. 
And seem'd to kisse him, wherewith he awoke, — 
And missing what (in thought) his sleepe had gayn'd, 
He mus'd, sigh'd, wept, and lastly thus complaynde : 

Vaine dreames, forbeare ! yee but deceavers be. 
For as in flattring glasses woemen see 


More beauty then x)ossest : soe I in you 
Have all I can desire, but nothing true. 

Whoe would be rich, to be soe but an howre 
Eates a sweet fruite to rellishe more the sowre. 
If but to lose againe we things possesse, 
Nere to be happy is a happinesse. 

Men walking in the pitchy shades of night 
Can keepe their certayne way ; but if a light 
O'retake and leave them, they are blynded more, 
And doubtfull goe that went secure before. 
For this (though hardly) I have ofte forborne 
To see her face, faire as the rosy morne ; 
Yet myne owne thoughts in night such traytors be. 
That they betraye me to that misery. 
Then thincke noe more of her — as soone I maye 
Commande the sun to robbe us of a daye, 
Or with a nett rejDell a liquidd streame. 
As loose such thoughts, or hinder but a dreame. 

The lightsome ayre as easTy hinder can 
A glasse to take the forme of any man 
That stands before yt, as or tyme or place 
Can drawe a veyle between me and her face. 

Yet, by such thoughts my torments hourely thrive ; 
For (as a pris'ner by his perspective) 
By them I am inform' d of what I want; 
I en\-y nowe none but the ignorant. 
Hee that ne'er sawe her (O, too happy wight) 
Is one borne blynde that knowes noe want of light ; 
He that nere kist her lipps, yet sees her eyes, 
Lives, while he lives soe, still in paradise ; 

8 bkitania's pasxokals. 

But if he taste those sweets as haples I, 
He knowes his want, and meets his miserye. 

An Indian rude that never heard one sing 
A heav'nly sonnet to a silver string, 
Nor other sounds, but what confused heards 
In pathles deserts make, or brookes or birds. 
Should he heare one the sweet Pandora touch, 
And loose his hearing streight ; he would as much 
Lament his knowledge as doe I my chance. 
And msh he still had liv'd in ignorance. 

I am that Indian ; and my soothing dreames 
In thirst have brought me but to painted streames, 
Which not allaye, but more increase desire : 
A man, neer frozen with December's ire. 
Hath, from a heape of glowormes, as much ease 
As I can ever have by dreames as these. 

O leave me then ! and strongest memorie 
Keepe still with those that promise-breakers be ; 
Goe ; bidd the debter mynde his payment daye ; 
Or helpe the ignorant devoute to saye 
Prayers they understand not ; leade the blynde. 
And bidd ingratefull wretches call to mynde 
Their benefactors ; and if vertue be 
(As still she is) trode on by miserie, 
Shewe her the rich, that they maye free her want, 
And leave to nurse the fawning sycophant ; 
Or, if thou see faire honor careles lye, 
Without a tombe for after memorye. 
Dwell by the grave, and teach all those that passe 
To ymitate, by sheweing who yt was. 


This waye, Remembrance, thou mayst doe some good, 
And have due thanckes ; but he that understood 
The throes thou bringst on me, would saye I misse 
The sleepe of him that did the pale moone kisse, 
And that yt were a blessing throwne on me, 
Sometymes to have the hated lethargie. 

Then, darke forgetfulnes, that onely art 
The friend of lunatikes, seize on that part 
Of memorie which hourely shewes her me ! 
Or suffer still her waking fantasie. 
Even at the instant when I dreame of her, 
To dreame the like of me ! soe shall we erre 
In pleasures endles maze without offence. 
And both connex as soules in innocence. 

His sorrowe this waye yet had further gone, 
For now his soule, all in confusion, 
Discharg'd her passions on all things she mett. 
And (rather then on none) on counterfett. 
For in her sufF' rings she will sooner frame 
Subjects fantasticall, formes without name, 
Deceave ytselfe against her owne conceite. 
Then want to worke on somwhat thought of weight. 
Hence comes yt, those affections which are tyde 
To an inforced bedd, a worthies bride, 
(Wanting a lawfull hold) our loving parte 
To subjects of lesse worth doth soone convert 
Her exercise, which should be nobly free, 
Rather on doggs, or dice, then idle be. 

Thus, on his memory, poor soule, he cast 
His exclamations ; and the daye had past 

10 britania's pastorals. 

With him as sadly as his sighes were true, 

And on this subject. When (as if he flewe) 

Leap'd from a neere grove (as he thought) a man, 

And to th' adjoyning wood as quickly ran; 

This stayde his thoughts. And whilst the other fledd, 

He rose, scarce knowing why, and followed. 

It was a gentle swajTie, on whose sweet youth 
Fortune had throwne her worst, and all men's ruth; 
Whoe, like a satyre now, from men's aboade 
The uncouth pathes of gloomy deserts trode ; 
Deepe, sullen vales, that never mercy wonne, 
To have a kinde looke from the powrefull sun ; 
But mantled up in shades as fearefull night, 
Could merry hearts wdth awfull terror smyte. 
Sadd nookes and dreadfull clefts of mighty rocks 
That knewe noe gueste within their careles locks, 
But banefull serpents, hated beasts of prey, 
And fatall fowle, that from the blessed daye 
Hidd their abhorred heads ; these, only these, 
Were his companyons and his cottages. 

Wayfaring man, for aftertymes y-bore, 
Who-ere thou be, that on the pleasant shore 
Of my deare Tavy hapst to treade along. 
When Willy sings noe more his rurall song, 
But long dissolv'd to dust, shall hardly have 
A teare or verse bestow' d upon his grave ; — 
Thincke on that hapless ladd, for all his meed, 
Whoe first this laye tun'd to an oaten reed; 
Then aske the swaynes, who, in the valleys deepe. 
Sing layes of love and feed their harmles sheepe. 


Aske them for Ramsham (late a gallant wood, 
Whose gaudye nymphes, tripping beside the floode, 
Allur'd the sea gods from their brackish strands 
To courte the beautyes of the upper lands). 
And neere to yt, halfwaye, a high-brow' d hill, 
Whose mayden sydes nere felt a coulter's ill, 
Thou mayst beholde, and (if thou list) admire 
An arched cave cutt in a rock intire, 
Deepe, hoUowe, hideous, overgrowne with grasse. 
With thornes and bryers, and sadd mandragoras : 
Poppy, and henbane, therby, grewe so thicke, 
That had the earth been thrice as lunaticke 
As learn' d Copernicus in sport would frame her. 
We there had sleepy simples founde to tame her. 

The entrance to yt was of brick and stone, 
Brought from the ruyn'd towre of Babilon. 
On either syde the doore a pillar stood. 
Whereon, of yore, before the generall flood, 
Industrious Seth in characters did score 
The mathematicks soule-inticing lore. 

Cheeke-swolne Lyoeus neere one pillar stoode. 
And from each hand a bunche full with the blood 
Of the care-killing vyne, he crushed out. 
Like to an artificial water- spout ; 
But of what kinde yt was the writers vary. 
Some say 'twas clarett, others sweare canary. 
On th' other syde, a statue strangely fram'd. 
And never till Columbus voyage nam'd. 
The genius of America, blewe forth 
A fume that hath bewitched all the north. 

12 britania's pastorals. 

A noyse of ballad makers, rymers, drinckers, 
Like a madd crewe of uncontrolled tinkers, 
Laye there, and druncke, and sung, and suck'd, and writt 
Verse ■v\'itliout measure, volumes without witt ; 
Complaints and sonnetts, vowes to yong Cupido, 
May be in such a manner as now I doe. 

He that in some faire daye of sommer sees 
A little comonwealth of thrifty bees 
Send out a pritty colony, to thrive 
Another where, from their too-peopled hyve. 
And markes the yong adventurers with pajTie 
Fly off and on, and forth, and backe againe, 
Maye well conceave with how much labour these 
Druncke, writt, and wrongd the learnde Pierides ; 
Yet tyme, as soone as ere their workes were done, 
Threwe them and yt into oblivion. 

Into this cave the forlorne shepheard enters. 
And Celadyn pursues ; yet ere he venters 
On such an obscure place, knowing the danger 
Which ofte betided there the careles stranger, 
Moly, or such preservative he takes, 
And thus assur'd, breakes through the tangling brakes; 
Searcheth each nooke to f\Tide the haples swapie. 
And calls him ofte, yet seekes and calls in vayne. 

At last, by glimring of some glowormes there. 
He findes a darke hole, and a wynding stayre ; 
Uncouth and hideous the descent aj^peares, 
Yet (unappalld with future chance or feares) 
Essays the first stepp, and goes boldly on ; 
Peeces of rotten wood on each side shone, 


Which, rather then to guide his vent'rous pace, 
With a more dreadfull horror fill'd the place. 
Still he descends. And many a stepp doth make. 
As one whose naked foote treads on a snake : 
The stayres so worne, he feareth, in a trice, 
To meet some deepe and deadly precipice. 

Thus came he downe into a narrow vaulte, 
Whose rocky sides (free from the smallest faulte, 
Inforc'd by age or weather) and the roofe 
Stood firmely strong and almost thunder-proofe. 
'Twas long ; and at the farre-ofF further end 
A little lampe he spyes ; as he had kend, 
One of the fixed starres ; the light was small, 
And distance made yt almost nought at all. 
Tow'rds it he came, and (from the swayne which fledd) 
These verses falne tooke up, went neere and read. 

Listen ! yee gentle wyndes, to my sadd mone ; 
And, mutt'ring brooks, attend my heavy plaints. 
Yee melodists, which in the lowe groves sing. 
Strive with your fellowes for sweet skill no more. 
But wayle with me ! and if my song yee passe 
For drery notes, match with the nightingale. 
Henceforward with the ruefuU nightingale 
Noe other but sadd groves shall heare my mone, 
And night beare witnes of my dolefuU plaints ; 
Sweet songs of love let others quaintly sing. 
For fate decrees I shall be knowne noe more 
But by my woes. All pleasures from me passe. 
As gliding torrents to the ocean passe. 

14 britania's pastorals. 

Nere to come back. The all- voice nightingale 
Comforts her fellowes, and makes cleare her mone ; 
But (where I would) regardles are my plaints, 
And but for eccho should unansweer'd sing; 
Can there in others be affection more 
Then is in me, yet be neglected more ? 
Then such neglect and love shall no man passe. 
For voyce she well may mate the nightingale, 
And from her syrens song I learnt to mone ; 
Yet she, as most imperfect deemes my plaints. 
Though too-too long I them have us'd to sing. 
Yet to noe happyer key she letts me sing. 
Shall I then change ? O there are others more 
"(As I heare shej)heards wayling, when I passe 
In deserts wilde to heare the nightingale) 
Whose eares receive noe sounde of any mone. 
But heare their praises rather then our plaints. 
Then since to flynt I still addresse my plaints, 
And my sadd numbers to a deafe eare sing, 
My cryes shall beate the subtill ayre noe more. 
But all my woes imprison ; and soe passe 
The poore rest of my dayes. Noe nightingale 
Shal be disturb' d in forrests with my mone. 
And when through inpent mone I hyde my plaints. 
And what I should sing makes me live noe more. 
Tell her my woes did passe the nightingale. 

Sadd swayne (quoth Celadyne) who ere thou be, 
I grieve not at my paines to followe thee ; 
Thou art a fitt companyon for my woe, 
Which hearts suncke into misery should knowe. 


O, if thou heare me, speake ; take to thy home ! 

Receave into this dismall living tombe 

A soiTowe loaden wretch ! one that would dye 

And treade the gloomy shades of destinye 

Onely to meet a soule that coulde relate 

A storye true as his, and passionate ! 

By this a sadd and heavy sounde began 
To fill the cave. And by degrees he wan 
Soe neere, he heard a well accorded lute, 
Touch' d by a hand had strooke the Thracian mute. 

Had yt been heard when sweet Amphion's tones 
Gave motion to the dull and senceles stones ; 
When, at the notes his skillfull fingers warble. 
The pibble tooke the flynte, the flynte the marble ; 
And rouling from the quarry justly fall. 
And mason-lesse built Cadmus towne a wall. 
Each one each other to this labour woo. 
And were the workemen and materialls too. 
Had this man playde when tother touch' d his lyre. 
Those stones had from the wall been seen retyre ; 
Or stopp'd halfe waye to heare him striking thus, 
Thoughe each had been a stone of Sisyphus. 
Naye, the musitian had his skill appro v'd. 
And been as ravish'd as the rocks he mov'd. 

Celadyne list'ned ; and the arched skyes 
Myght wish themselves as many eares as eyes. 
That they might teach the starre-bestudded spheares 
A musicke newe, and more devyne than theirs. 
To these sadd-sweet strings, as ere woe befriended, 
This verse was marry' d : — 

16 brttania's pastorals. 

Yet one daye's rest for all my cryes ! 

One howre amongst soe many ! 
Springs have their sabaoths ; my poore eyes 

Yet never mett with any. 

He that doth but one woe misse, 
O Death, to make him thjne ; 

I would to God that I had his, 
Or else that he had myne ! 

By this sadd wish wee two should have 

A fortune and a wife ; 
For I should wedd a peacefull grave, 

And he a happy life. 

Yet lett that man whose fortunes swymi 

Soe hye by my sadd woe, 
Forbeare to treade a stepp on him 

That dy'de to make them soe. 

Onely to acquitt my foes, 

Write this where I am layne : 

Heere lyes the mail whome others ivoes 
And those he lov'd have slaine. 

Heere the musicke ended. 

But CeladjTie leaves not his pious guest : 
For, as an artist curiously addrest 
To some conclusion, having haply founde 
A small incouragement on his first grounde. 


Goes cheerefull on ; nor from it can be wonne, 

Till he have perfected what he begun ; 

Soe he pursues, and labours all he can 

(Since he had heard the voice) to fynde the man. 

A little dore, at last, he in the syde 
Of the long stretched entry had descryde, 
And coming to it with the lampe, he spyes 
These lynes upon a table \vritt : 

Love ! when I mett her first whose slave I am, 
To make her myne, why had I not thy flame ? 

Or els thy blyndnes not to see that daye ? 
Or if I needs must looke on her rare parts, 
Love ! why to wounde her had I not thy darts, 

Since I had not thy wings to fly away ? 

Winter was gone ; and by the lovely spring 
Each pleasant grove a merry quire became, 

Where day and night the carelesse birds did sing, 
Love, when I mett her first whose slave I am. 

She sate and listned (for she lov'd his strayne) 
To one whose songs coulde make a tiger tame ; 

Which made me sighe, and crye, O happy swayne ! 
To make her myne, ivhy had I not thy fiame ? 

I vainely sought my passion to controule : 

And, therefore (since she loves the learned laye). 

Homer, I should have brought with me thy soule, 
Or else thy blyfidnesse, nott to see that daye ! 

18 britania's pastorals. 

Yet would I not (myne eyes) my dayes outrun 
In gazing (coulde I helpe it, or the arts), 

Like him that dyde with looking on the sun ; 
Or if I needs must, looke on her rare parts ! 

Those, seen of one who every herbe would try, 
And what the blood of elephants imparts 

To coole his flame, yet would he (forced) cry. 
Love ! tvhy to wounde her had I not thy darts ? 

O Dedalus ! the labrinth fram'd by thee 
Was not soe intricate as where I straye ; 

There have I lost my dearest libertie. 
Since I had not thy wings to Jlye atvaye. 

His eyes. 

And still attentive eares, doe now discover 
Sufficient cause to thincke some haples lover 
Inhabited this darke and sullen cell. 
Where none but shame or dismall grief e would dwell. 

As I have seen a fowler, by the floods 
In winter tyme, or by the fleeced woods, 
Steale softly ; and his stepps full often vary. 
As heere and there flutters the wished quarry ; 
Now with his heele, now with his toe he treads, 
Fearing the crackling of the frozen meades ; 
Avoydes each rotten sticke neere to his foote. 
And creepes, and labours thus, to gett a shoote : 
Soe Celadyne approches neere the dore. 
Where sighes amaz'd him as the lute before; 


Sighes fetchd so deepe, they seemd of powre to carry 
A soule fitt for eternitye to marrye. 

Had Dido stood upon her cliffs and seen 
Ilium's ^neas stealing from a queen, 
And spent her sighes as powrefull as were these, 
She had inforc'd the faire Nereides 
To answere hers ; those, had the Nayads wonne, 
To drive his winged Pyne rounde with the sun. 
And long ere Drake (without a fearful! wrack) 
Girdled the world, and brought the wandrer back. 

Celad}Tie, gently, somewhat op'd the dore, 
And by a glimmring lampe upon the floore 
Descryde a pritty curious rocky cell ; 
A spoute of water in one corner fell 
Out of the rocke upon a little wheele. 
Which, speedy as it coulde the water feele, 
Did, by the helpe of other engines lent, 
Sett soone on worke a curious instrument, 
Whose sounde was like the hollowe, heavy flute, 
Jo}Ti'de with a deepe, sadd, sullen, cornemute. 
This had the unknowne shepheard sett to playe 
Such a soule-thrilling note, that if that day 
CeladjTie had not seen this uncouth youth 
Decend the cave, he would have sworne for truth 
That great Apollo, slidd down from his spheare, 
Did use to practise all his lessons there. 

Upon a couche the musick's master laye ; 
And whilst the handlesse instrument did playe 
Sadd hea\'y accents to his woes as deepe, 
To wooe him to an everlasting sleepe, 

c 2 

20 bkitaxia's pastorals. 

Stretch' d carelesly upon his little bedd, 
His eyes fixt on the floore, his care full head 
Leaning upon his palme, his voice but fainte, 
Thus, to the sullen cave, made his complajnte : 

Fate ! yet at last be mercifuU. Have done ! 
Thou canst aske nothing but confusion ; 
Take then thy fill ! strike till thyne edge be dull ! 
Thy cruelty ^vill soe be pittifull. 
He that at once hath lost his hopes and feares 
Lives not, but onely tarryes for more yeares ; 
(Much like an aged tree which moisture lacks. 
And onely standeth to attend the axe.) 
So have, and soe doe I : I truely knowe 
How men are borne, and whither they shall goe ; 
I knowe that like to silkewormes of one yeare. 
Or like a kinde and wronged lover's teare. 
Or on the pathles waves a rudders dint. 
Or like the little sparkles of a flynt, 
Or like to thinne rounde cakes with cost perfum'd, 
Or fireworkes, onely made to be consum'd; 
I knowe that such is man, and all that trust 
In that weake peece of animated dust. 
The silkeworme droopes, the lover's teare's soone shedd, 
The shipp's waye quickly lost, the sparkle dead ; 
The cake burnes out in hast, the fireworke's done, 
And man as soone as these as quickly gone. 

Daye hath her night ; millions of yeares shal be 
Bounded at last by long eternitie. 
The roses have their spring, they have their fall, 
Soe have the trees, beasts, fowle, and soe ha^-e all; 


The rivers run and end : starres rise and sett ; 
There is a heate, a colde, a dry, a wett ; 
There is a heaven, a hell, an earth, a skye ; 
Or teach me something newe, or lett me dye ! 
Deere fate, be mercifull by prayers wonne. 
Teach me once what Death is, and all is done ! 

Thou mayst object; there's somewhat else to learne ; 

doe not bring me backe unto the querne 
To grynde for honours, when I cannot tell 
What will be sayde in the next chronicle ! 
Lett my unblemish'd name meet with a tombe 
Deservedly unspurn'd at, and at home ! 

I knowe there are possessions to inheritt ; 
But since the gate is stopp'd up to all merritt, 
Some haples soules, as I, doe well observe it. 
The waye to loose a place is to deserve it. 

I am not ignorant besides of this. 
Each man the workeman of his fortune is ; 
But to apply and temper well his tooles, 
He followe must th' advice of babes and fooles ; 
Thoughe virtue and reward be the extreames 
Of fortune's lyne, yet there are other beames. 
Some spriggs of bribery imp'd in the lyne ; 
Pandrisme or flatt'ry from the Florentine, 
Which whoesoe catches, comes home crown' dmthbaye, 
Ere he- that runs the right lyne runs halfe waye. 
\\Tiat love and beauty is (thou know'st, O ! fate) 

1 have read over ; and, alas ! but late ; 

Their Avoundes yet bleed, and yet noe helpe is nye ; 
Then teach me something newe, or lett me dye ! 

22 - britania's pastorals. 

Honors and places, riches, pleasures be 
Beyonde my starre, and not ordayn'd for me ; 
Or sure the waye is lost, and those we holde 
For true, are counterfaits to those of olde. 
How sprout they else soe soon, like ozyer topps, 
Which one spring breeds and which next autumne lopps. 
Why are they else soe fading ? soe possest 
With guilt and feare, they dare not stand the test ? 
Had virtue and true merritt been the basis. 
Whereon were rays' d their honors and hye places, 
They had been stronger seated, and had stood 
To after ages, as our antient blood, 
Whose very names, and courages well steel' d, 
Made up an armye, and could crowne a field. 

Open the waye to merritt and to love I 
That we may teach a Cato and a Dove 
To heart a cause and weighe afiection deare, 
And I mil thincke we live, not tarry heere. 

Further his plainte had gone (if needed more). 
But Celadyne, now widing more the dore, 
Made a small noyse, which, startling up the man, 
He streight descryde him, and anewe began : 
What sorrowe, or what curiositie, 
Saye (if thou be a man), conducted thee 
Into these darke and unfrequented cells. 
Where nought but I and dreadfuU horror dwells ? 
Or, if thou be a ghost, for pitty saye 
What powre, what chance, hath ledd thee to this way ? 
If soe thou be a man, there can nought come 
From them to me, unlesse yt be a tombe. 


And that I holde already. See ; I have 

Sufficient too to lend a king a grave, 

A blest one too, within these hollowe vaults ; 

Earth hydes but bodyes ; but oblivion, faults. 

Or, if thou be a ghost sent from above, 

Saye, is not blessed virtue and faire love, 

Faith and just gratitude rewarded there ? 

Alas ! I knowe they be : I knowe they weare 

Cro^vnes of such glory, that their smallest ray 

Can make us lend th' Antipodes a daye : 

Nay, change our spheare, and need noe more the sun 

Then those that have that light whence all begun. 

Staye further inquisition, quoth the swayne, 
And knowe I am a man ; and of that trayne 
Which neer the Avesterne rivers feed their flocks. 
I need not make me knowne ; for if the rocks 
Can holde a sculpture, or the powre of verse 
Preserve a name, the last-borne maye reherse 
Me and my fortunes. Curiositie 
Lead me not hither : chance, in seeing thee, 
Gave me the thread, and by it I am come 
To finde a living man within a tombe. 
Thy plaints I have oreheard ; and lett it be 
Noe wrong to them that they were heard of me. 
Maye be that heaven's great providence hath ledd 
Me to these horrid caves of night and dread, 
That, as in phisicke, by some signature. 
Nature herselfe doth pointe us out a cure. 
The liverwort is, by industrious art, 
Knowne phisicall and soveraigne for that part 


Which it resembles ; and if we applye 

The eye-bright, by the like, unto the eye, 

Why mayst not thou (disconsolate) as well 

From me receave a cure ? since in me dwell 

All those sadd ^\'Tongs the world hath throwne on thee; 

Which wrought soe much on my proclivitie, 

That I have entertayn'd them, and th' art growne 

And soe incorporated, and myne o^^^le, 

That griefe, elixir like, hath turn'd me all 

Into itselfe ; and therefore phisicall. 

For if in herbes there lye this misterie, 

Saye, why in other bodyes maye not we 

Promise ourselves the like r w^hy shouldst not thou 

Expect the like from me this instant now r 

And more, since heaven hath made me for thy cure 

Both the phisitian and the signature. 

Ah ! Celadyne, quoth he, and thinck't not strange 
I call thee by thy name ; thoughe tymes now change, 
Makes thee forgett what myne is, with my voyce, 
I have recorded thyne : and if the choice 
Of all our swaynes, which by the westerne rills 
Feed their white flocks and tune their oaten quills, 
Were with me now, thou onely art the man 
Whome I woulde chuse for my phisitian. 
The others I would thancke and wishe awaye. 
There needs but one sun to bring in the daye, 
Nor but one Celadjue to cleere my night 
Of discontent ; if any humane wight 
Can reach that possibilitye : but know 
My griefes admitt noe parallax ; they goc, 


Like to the fixed starres, in such a spheare, 
Soe hye from meaner woes and conion care 
That thou canst never any distance take 
'Twixt myne and others woes ; and till thou make 
And Icnowe a difF'rence in my saddest fate, 
The cause, the station, and the ling' ring date. 
From other men, which are in griefe oregone 
(Since it is best read by comparison). 
Thou never canst attayne the least degree 
Of hope to worke a remedye on me. 

I knowe to whome I speake. On Isis banckes. 
And melancholy Charwell, neere the rancks 
Of shading willowes, often have we layne 
And heard the muses and Apollo's strayne 
In heavenly raptures, as the powres on highe 
Had there been lecturers of poesye, 
And nature's searcher, deepe philosophy; 
Yet neither these, nor any other art, 
Can yeeld a meanes to cure my wounded heart : 
Staye then from loosing longer tyme on me. 
And in these deepe caves of obscuritie 
Spend some fewe howres to see what is not knowne 
Above ; but on the wings of rumor blowne. 
Heere is the faeries' court (if soe they be), 
(With that he rose) ; come neere, and thou shalt see 
Whoe are my neighbours. And with that he leadd 
(With such a pace as lovers use to treade 
Neere sleeping parents) by the hand the swayne 
Unto a pritty seate, neer which these twayne, 
By a rounde little hole, had soone descryde 
A trim fcatc roomc, about a fathome wide. 


As much in height, and twice as much in length, 
Out of the mayne rocke cutt by artfull strength. 
The two-leav'd doore was of the mother pearle, 
Hinged and nayl'd with golde. Full many a girle, 
Of the sweet faierye ligne, wrought in the loome 
That fitted those rich hangings cladd the roonie. 
In them was wrought the love of their great king ; 
His triumphs, dances, sports, and revelling : 
And learned Spenser, on a little hill. 
Curiously wrought, laye, as he tun'de his quill; 
The floore could of respect compla}Tie noe losse, 
But neatly cover' d with discolour' d mosse. 
Woven into storyes, might, for such a peece, 
Vye with the richest carpetts brought from Greece. 
A little mushrome (that was now growne thinner, 
By being one tyme shaven for the dinner 
Of one of Spaine's grave grandis, and that daye 
Out of his greatnesse larder stolne awaye. 
By a more nimble elfe then are their witts, 
Whoe practice truth as seldom as their spitts) ; 
This mushrome (on a frame of waxe y-pight, 
Wherein was wrought the strange and cruell fight 
Betwixt the troublous comonwealth of flyes, 
And the slye spider with industrious thighes) 
Serv'd for a table; then a little elfe 
(If possible, far lesser then itselfe). 
Brought in the covering, made of white rose leaves, 
And (wrought together with the spinner's sleaves) 
Mett in the table's middle in right angles ; 
The trenchers were of little silver spangles. 


The salt, the small bone of a fishe's backe, 

Whereon, in little, was exprest the wracke 

Of that deplored mouse, from whence hath sprung 

That furious battle Homer whilome sung. 

Betwixt the frogs and mice : soe neately wrought 

You coulde not worke it lesser in a thought. 

Then, on the table, for their bread, was put 

The milke- white kernells of the hazell nutt ; 

The cupboord, suteable to all the rest. 

Was, as the table, with like cov'ring drest. 

The ewre and bason were, as fitting well, 

A perriwinckle and a cockle-shell : 

The glasses pure, and thinner then we can 

See from the sea-betroth' d Venetian, 

Were all of ice ; not made to overlast 

One supper, and betwixt two cow-slipps cast, 

A prittyer fashion hath not yet been tolde, 

Soe neate the glasse was, and so feate the molde. 

A little spruce elfe then (just of the sett 
Of the French dancer or such marionett) 
Cladd in a sute of rush, woven like a matt ; 
A monkeshood flowre then serving for a hatt ; 
Under a cloake made of the spider's loome, 
This faiery (with them helde a lusty groome) 
Brought in his bottles ; neater were there none. 
And every bottle was a cherrystone. 
To each a seed pearle served for a screwe, 
And most of them were fill'd with early dewe. 
Some choicer ones, as for the king most meet, 
Held mel-dewe and the hony-suckles sweet. 

28 britania's pastorals. 

All things thus fitted ; streightways follow'd in 
A case of small musitians, with a dynne 
Of little hautboys, whereon each one strives 
To shewe his skill ; they all were made of syves, 
Excepting one, which pufte the players face, 
And was a chibole, serving for the base. 

Then came the service. The first dishes were 
In white brothe boylde, a crammed grashopper ; 
A pismire roasted whole ; five crayfish eggs ; 
The udder of a mouse ; two hornett's leggs ; 
In steed of olyves, cleanly pickl'd sloes ; 
Then, of a batt, were serv'd the petty-toes ; 
Three fleas in souse ; a criquet from the bryne ; 
And of a dormouse, last, a lusty chyne. 

Tell me, thou grandi, Spaine's magnifico. 
Could' st thou ere intertayne a monarch soe^ 
Without exhausting most thy rents and fees, 
Tolde by a hundred thowsand marvedies ? 
That bragging poore accompt. If we should heere 
Some one relate his incomes every yeare 
To be five hundred thousand farthings tolde, 
Coulde yee refrayne from laughter ? coulde yee holde ? 
Or see a miser sitting downe to dyne 
On some poore spratt new squeesed from the bryne. 
Take out his spectakles, and with them eate. 
To make his dish seeme larger and more greate. 
Or else to make his golde its worth surpasse, 
Woulde see it throughe a multiplying glasse : 
Such are there auditts ; such their highe esteemes ; 
A Spanyard is still lesse then what he seemes ; — 


Lesse wise, less potent ; rich, but glorious ; 
Prouder then any, and more treacherous. 
But lett us leave the bragadochio heere, 
A.nd turne to better company and cheere. 

The first course thus serv'd in; next follow'd on 
The faierye nobles, ushering Oberon, 
Their mighty king ; a prince of subtill powre, 
Cladd in a sute of speckled gilliflowre. 
His hatt, by some choice master in the trade, 
Was (like a helmett) of a lilly made. 
His rufie a daizie was, soe neately trimme, 
As if, of purpose, it had growne for him. 
His points were of the lady-grasse, in streakes. 
And all were tagg'd, as fitt, with titmouse beakes. 
His girdle, not three tymes as broade as thinne. 
Was of a little trout's selfe-spangled skinne. 
His bootes (for he was booted at that tyde). 
Were fittly made of halfe a squirrell's hyde. 
His cloake was of the velvett flowres, and lynde 
With flowre-de-lices of the choicest kinde. 

Downe sate the king; his nobles did attend ; 
And after some repaste, he gan commend 
Their hawkes and sporte. This in a brave place flewe. 
That bird too soone was taken from the me we. 
This came well throughe the fowle, and quick againe 
Made a brave point streight up upon her trayne. 
Another for a driver none came nye ; 
And such a hawke truss'd well the butterfly. 
That was the quarry which their pastime crownde ; 
Their hawkes were wagtayles, most of them mew'd 

30 britaxia's pastorals. 

Then of their coursers' speed, sure-footing pace, 
Their next discourse was ; as that famous race, 
Ingend'red by the wynde, coulde not compare 
With theirs, noe more then coulde a Flemish mare 
With those fleet steeds that are so quickly hurl'd. 
And make but one daye's journey rounde the world. 
Naye, in their praises, some one durst to run 
Soe farre to say, that if the glorious sun 
Should lame a horse, he must come from the spheares 
And furnish up his teame with one of theirs. 
Those that did heare them vaunte their excellence 
Beyonde all value, with such confidence, 
Stoode wond'ring how such little elfes as these 
Durst venture on soe greate hyperboles ; 
But more upon such horses. But it ceast 
(I meane the wonder) when each nam'd his beaste. 
My nimble squu-rell (quoth the king) and then 
Pinching his hatt is but a minute's ken. 
The earth ran speedy from him, and I dare 
Saye, if it have a motion circular, 
I coulde have run it rounde ere she had done 
The halfe of her circumvolution. 
Her motion, lik'd with myne, should almost be 
As Saturne's, myne the primum mobile. 
Then, looking on the faieryes most accounted, 
I grante, quoth he, some others were well mounted, 
And praise your choice ; I doe acknowledge that 
Your weesell ran well too ; soe did your ratt ; 
And were his tayle cutt shorter to the fashion, 
You, in his speed, woulde finde an alteration. 


Another's stoate had pass'd the swiftest teggs, 
If somewhat sooner he had founde his leggs ; 
His hare was winded well ; soe had indeed 
Another's rabbett tolerable speed. 
Your catt (quoth he) would many a courser baffle ; 
But sure he reynes not halfe well in a snaffle. 
I knowe her well ; 'twas Tybert that begatt her, 
But she is flewe, and never Avill be fatter : 
The vare was lastly prais'd, and all the kinde, 
But on their pasternes they went weake behynde. 

What brave discourse was this ! now tell me, you 
That talke of kings, and states, and what they doe ; 
Or gravely silent, with a Cato's face, 
Chewe ignorance untill the later grace ; 
Or such, whoe (with discretion then at jarre) 
Dare checke brave Grinvill and such sonnes of warre, 
With whome they durst as soone have measur'd swords, 
(How ere their pens fight or wine-prompted words) 
As not have lefte him all with blood besmear' d. 
Or tane an angry lion by the beard. 
Forbeare that honor' d name ! you, that in spight 
Take paines to censure, more then he to fight ; 
Trample not on the dead ! those wrongly lays 
The not-successe, whoe soonest ran awaye. 
Kill not againe w^home Spaine would have repreev'd ! 
Had ten of you been Grinvills, he had liv'd. 

Were it not better that you did apply 
Your meate, unlaught at of the standers by ? 
Or (like the faierye king) talke of your horse, 
Or such as you, for want of something worse. 

32 britania's pastorals. 

Lett that deare name for ever sacred be : 
Caesar had enemyes, and soe had he ; 
But Grin\ill did that Roman's fate transcend, 
And fought an enemy into a friend. 

Thus with small things I doe compose the greate. 
Now comes the king of faieries second meate ; 
The first dish was a small spa"svn'd fish and fryde, 
Had it been lesser, it had not been spyde ; 
The next, a dozen larded mytes ; the third, 
A goodly pye fill'd with a lady-bird. 
Two roasted flyes, then of a dace the poule, 
And of a miller' s-thumbe a mighty joule ; 
A butterfly which they had kill'd that daye, 
A brace of ferne-webbs pickled the last Maye. 
A well-fedd hornet taken from the souse, 
A larkes tongue dryde, to make him to carowse. 

As when a lusty sa^^yer, well preparde, 
His breakefast eaten, and his timber squarde, 
About to rayse up as he thincketh fitt 
A good sound tree above his sawing pitt, 
His neighbours call'd; each one a lusty heaver, 
Some steere the rouler, others ply the leaver ; 
Heave heere, sayes one ; another calls, shove thither ; 
Heave, roule, and shove ! cry all, and altogether ; 
Looke to your foote, sir, and take better heed, 
Cryes a by-stander, noe more hast then need ; 
Lifte up that ende there ; bring it gently on ; 
And now thrust all at once, or all is gone ; 
Holde there a little ; softe ; now use your strength ; 
And with this stirre, the tree lyes fitt at length. 


Just such a noyse was heard when came the last 
Of Oberon's second messe. One cryde, holde fast ; 
Put five more of the guard to't, of the best ; 
Looke to your footing ; stoppe awhile and rest ; 
One would have thought with soe much strength and 

They surely would have brought Behemoth in, 
That mighty oxe which (as the Rabbins saye) 
Shall feaste the Jewes upon the latter daye. 
But at the last, with all this noyse and cry, 
Ten of the guard brought in a minowe-pye. 

The mountaynes labour' d and brought forth a mouse, 
And why not in this mighty princes house 
As any others ? Well, the pye was plac'd, 
And then the musicke strooke, and all things grac'd. 

It was a consort of the choicest sett 
That never stood to tune, or right a frett ; 
For Nature to this king such musike sent. 
Most were both players and the instrument. 

Noe famous sensualist, what ere he be, 
"\Mioe in the brazen leaves of historic 
Hath his name registred, for vast expence 
In striving how to please his hearing sence, 
Had ever harmony chose for his eare 
Soe fitt as for this king ; and these they were. 

The trebble was a three-mouth' d grashopper, 
Well tutor' d by a skillfull quirister. 
An antient master, that did use to playe 
The friskins which the lambs doe dance in Maye ; 
And long tyme was the chiefest call'd to sing, 



When on the playnes the faieryes made a ring ; 

Then a field- criquett, with a note full cleare, 

Sweet and unforc'd and softly sung the meane, 

To whose accord, and with noe mickle labor, 

A pritty faiery playde upon a tabor : 

The case was of a hasell nutt, the heads 

A batt's-wing dress' d, the snares were silver thredds; 

A little stifFned lamprey's skin did sute 

All the rest well, and serv'd them for a flute ; 

And to all these, a deepe well brested gnatt, 

That had good sides, knewe well his sharpe and flatt. 

Sung a good compasse, making noe wry face, — 

Was there as fittest for a chamber base. 

These choice musitians, to their merry king 
Gave all the pleasure which their art coulde bring ; 
At last he ask'd a song : but ere I fall 
To sing it over in my pastorall, 
Give me some respitt ; now the daye growes olde. 
And 'tis full tjme that I had pitch' d my folde; 
When next sweet morning calls us from our bedds 
With harmelesse thoughts and with untroubled heads, 
Meet we in Roivden meadowes, where the flood 
Kisses the banckes, and courts the shady wood ; 
A wood wherein some of these layes were drest, 
And often sung by Willy of the west ; 
Upon whose trees the name of Licea stands, 
Licea, more fleeting then my Tavyes sands ; 
Growe olde, ye ryndes ! and shedd awaye that name ; 
But O what hand shall wipe awaye her shame ? 

There lett us meet. And if my younger quill 


Bring not such raptures from the sacred hill 

With others, to whome heaven infused breath 

When raignd our glorious deare Elizabeth, 

(The nurse of learning and the blessed arts. 

The center of Spaine's envy and our hearts), 

If that the Muses fayle me not, I shall 

Perfect the little faieries festivall ; 

And charme your eares soe with that princes song. 

That those faire nymphes which dayly tread along 

The westerne rivers and survaye the fountaynes, 

And those which haunte the woods, and sky kiss'd 

Shall learne and sing it to ensuing tymes 
AVhen I am dust. And Tavy in my rimes 
Challenge a due ; lett it thy glorye be, 
That famous Drake and I were borne by thee ! 


D 2 

36 britania's pastorals. 



GooDE daye to all yee merry westerne swajnes, 
And ev'ry gentle shepherdesse that deignes 
A kinde attentive eare to what I sing. 
Come, sitt you rounde about me in a ring ; 
My reed is fitted, and I meane to playe 
The faieryes song I promis'd yesterdaye; 
And thoughe for length I have it over-run, 
This was the matter, thus the elfe begun. 

Of royall parents in a country rich 

Were borne three daughters, with all beautyes 
That coulde the eyes of men or gods bemtch, 

Or poets sacred verse did ever sounde ; 
But natures favour flewe a higher pitch, 

"VMien with the yongest she em-ich'd this round, 
Thoughe her first worke for prayse much right might 

Her last outwent yt, and she broke the molde. 

From countryes farre remote, wing'd with desire. 
Strangers pass'd gladly o're a tedious waye 


To see if fame would now be foimde a Iyer, 
Whoe said another sun brought in the daye ; 

Poore men ! yee come too neere to such a fire, 
And, for a looke, your lives at hazard laye. 

Staye, staye at home, reade of her beauty there, 

And make not those sweet eyes your murderer. 

The curious statuaryes, painters quainte, 

From their greate monarks come, from ev'ry land, 

That what the chesill coulde, or pensill painte. 
Might in her portraict have the skillfull' st hand ; 

But, seely men, they meet a sadd restrainte. 

And they themselves as turn'd to statues stand; 

Soe many graces in her feature lurke. 

They turne all eye and have noe hands to worke. 

The altars of the gods stood nowe forlorne ; 

Their mirrhe and frankincense was kept awaye, 
And fairest Cytherea (that was borne 

Out of the white froth of the working sea) 
Wanted her votaryes ; nay, some in scorne 

Durste wante, while they the sacrifice delaye; 
This was a deity, indeed, for whome 
The gods themselves might be a hecatombe. 

Divers beleev'd, whoe, ravish' d with the sight. 
Stood gazing, as amaz'd, at her faire eyes. 

That Nature had produc'd another light, 

Newe kinde of starre, and in a newer guize ; 

And from the earth, not from the sea, should rise 

38 britania's pastorals. 

A Venus worthyer to unlength the night ; 
And thoughe the first be for a goddesse plac'd, 
This was more heavenly faire, more truely chaste. 

Hence came it : Paphos and Cythera nowe, 
Gnidus and Amathus could see noe more 

The shipps, the parent of their goddesse plowe, 
Nor j^ilgrims land on their forsaken shore. 

Noe man a guifte coulde to her shryne allowe, 
Nor rose, nor mirtle crowne her image wore ; 

The bedds contemn' d, harth fireless and unfitt, 

And men's devotions were as colde as it. 

Anger and rage possest the queen of love 
To see a fau'er queen of love then she ; 

And that a mortall, with the powers above, 
Came in divyne rytes to a like degree ; 

Nay, that the ravish' d people alwayes strove 
That this none other coulde then Venus be ; 

Impatient ought on earth deserv'd her name; 

Thus murmur' d she, and scorne still fedd the flame. 

Have I, quoth she, the most confus'd abisse, 
The chaos rude unwounde ? the vault of heaven 

Compos' d, and settled all that order is ? 
The name of nursing mother to me given. 

And all regardless ? must I, after this. 

Be from my temples and myne altars driven ? 

And she that is the sourse of humane things 

Paye, as a vassall, tribute to her springs r 


Noe ; 'tis a competition too-too lowe, 
To stand with one compos' d of elements 

Which their originall to me doe owe ; 
Shall fading creatures prosecute intents 

"With us that all eternity doe knowe ? 

And the like victimes have and sacred sents ? 

Or share with me in any rites of myne, 

And mingle mortall honors with divine ? 

What bootes it then that men me rightly call 
The daughter of the mighty thunderer ? 

And that I can ascend up to my stall 

Along the milky waye by many a starre ? 

And w^here I come, the powers celestiall 
Kise more to mee then any goddesse farre ? 

And all those contryes by bright Phoebus seen 

Doe homage and acknowledge me their queen. 

Shall I then leave the prize I whilome wonne 
On stately Ida (for my beautyes charmes), 

Given me by Paris, Priam's fatall sonne, 

From stately Juno and the Maide of Armes ? 

By which old Symois long with blood did run. 
If such ambition her proude bosome warmes, 

I must descend, she fly to heaven ; and there 

Sitt in my glorious orbe, and guide my spheare. 

Noe, this usurping maide shall feele the powre 

Of an incensed deity, and see 
Those cheekes of redd and white, that living flowre, 

And those her limms of truest symetrie. 

40 britania's pastorals. 

Want winning eloquence to scape the showre 

Of due revenge must fall on her from me. 
She shall repent those beautyes, and confesse 
She had been happyer in deformednes. 

She said noe more : but full of ire ascends, 

Her chariott draAvne by white enamour' d doves ; 

Her passion to their speed more swiftnes lends. 
And now to search her sonne (that various loves 

Worketh each where) she studiously intends : 
She sought him long among th' Elizian groves, 

But missing him, to earth- ward bent her rejoies, 

And with a shepheard founde him on the playnes. 

It was a shepheard that was borne by- west, 
And well of Tityrus had learnt to sing ; 

Little knewe he, poore ladd, of love's unrest, 
But by his fellowe shepheards sonnetting ; 

A speculative knowledge with the best 
He had, but never felt the golden sting ; 

And to comply with those his fellowe swaynes. 

He sung of love and never felt the paines. 

The little Cupid lov'd him for his verse, 
Thoughe lowe and tuned to an oaten reed ; 

And that he might the fitter have commerce 
With those that sung of love and lovers deed, 

Strooke (O but had Death strooke her to a herse) 
Those woundes had not been ope which freshly bleed, 

Strooke a faire maide and made her love this ladd, 

From whence his sorroAves their beginnings had. 


Long tyme she lov'd : and Cupid did soe deare 
Affect the shepheard, that he woulde not try 

A golden dart to wounde him, out of feare 
(That they might not be strooken equally) 

But turned orator ; and coming there 

Where this yong pastor did his flocks apply, 

He wooes him for the lasse sicke of his hand. 

And beggs, whoe might imperiously command. 

Shall that sweet paradise neglected lye 
(T'was soe, and had a serpent in it too). 

Shall those sweet lipps, that pitty-begging eye 
Begett noe flame, when common beautyes doe ? 

Those brests of snowe, bedds of felicitye, 
Made to inforce a man of ire to woo. 

Make nought for her ? in whose soule-melting flashes 

A salamander might consume to ashes. 

Pitty her sighes, fond swayne ! beleeve her teares ; 

What hearte of marble woulde not rend to see her 
Languish for love ? poore soule, her tender yeares 

Have flame to feed her fire, not words to free her. 
Bad orators are yonger loves and feares. 

Thus Cupid wooes, and coulde a mortall flee her ? 
But Venus coming, Cupid threwe a dart 
To make all sure, and left it in his heart. 

Thus to the winged archer Venus came, 

A\Tioe, thoughe by Nature quick ynoughe inclynde 

To all requests made by the Cyprian dame. 
She lefte noe grace of looke or worde behynde 

42 britania's pastorals. 

That might rayse up that fire which none can tame : 

Revenge, that sweet betrayer of the mynde, 
That cunning, turbulent, impatient guest, 
Which sleepes in blood, and but in death hath rest. 

Into her charyott she him quickly takes. 

And swifte as tyme, cutting the yeelding ayre, 

Her discontent she tells him, as she makes 

Towards Psyches sweet aboade a sadd repaire. 

Psyche the lady hight that nowe awakes 

Faire Venus furye ; looke, quoth she ; and there 

Beholde my griefe ; O Cupid, shutt thyne eyne. 

Or that which now is her's will soone be thyne. 

See yonder girle, quoth she, for whome my shryne 

Is lefte neglected and of all forlorne ; 
Hearke how the poets court the sacred Nyne 

To give them raptures full and highly borne 
That maye befitt a beauty soe divyne. 

And from the threshold of the rosy morne 
To Phoebus westerne inne, fill by their layes 
All hearts with love of her, all tongues with praise. 

By that maternall rightfull powre, my sonne. 

Which I have with thee, and may justly claime; 

By those golde darts which I for thee have wonne, 
By those sweet wounds they make without a mayme, 

By thy kinde fire which hath such wonders donne, 
And all faire eyes from whence thou takest ayme ; 

By these, and by this kisse, this and this other. 

Bight a wronged goddesse and revenge thy mother. 


And this waye doe it : make that glorious mayde 

Slave in affection, to a wretch as rude 
As ever yet deformitie arayde 

Or all the vices of the multitude. 
Lett him love money ! and a friend betrayde, 

ProclajTne with how much witt he is indude ; 
Lett not sweet sleepe but sicknes make his bedd ! 
And to the grave bring home her maidenhead. 

When the bless'd day calls others from their sleepe, 
And birds sweet layes rejoyce all creatures waking, 

Lett her lame husbands grones and sighing deepe 
Affright her from that rest which she is taking ! 

And (spight of all her care) when she doth weepe, 
Lett him mistrust her teares and faithes forsaking ! 

In briefe, lett her affect (thus I importune) 

One wrong' d as much as Nature coulde or Fortune. 

Thus spoke she, and a winning kisse she gave ; 

A long one, with a free and yeelding lipp, 
Unto the god ; and on the brackish wave 

(Leaving her sonne ashore) doth nimbly tripp. 
Two dolphins with a charryot richly brave 

Wayted, and with her unto Cyprus tripp ; 
The little Cupid she had lefte behinde, 
And gave him sight then when he shoulde be blynde. 

Cupid, to worke his wyles that can applye 
Himselfe, like Proteus, to what forme he list, 

Fierce as a lyon, nimble as an eye, 

As glorious as the sun, darke as a miste, 

44 britania's pastorals. 

Hiding himselfe within a ladyes eye, 

Or in a silken hayre's insnaring twist ; 
And those within whose brests he ofte doth fall, 
And feele him moste, doe knowe him leaste of all. 

The God now us'd his powre, and him addrest 
Unto a fitting stand, where he might see 

All that kinde Nature ever yet exprest 
Of colour, feature, or due symetrie : 

It seem'd heaven was come downe to make earth blest. 
Noe wonder then if there this god should be ; 

Noe ; wonder more which waye he can be driven, 

To leave this sight for those he knewe in heaven. 

Her cheekes the wonder of what eye beheld 

Begott betwixt a lilly and a rose. 
In gentle rising plaines devinely swell' d. 

Where all the graces and the loves repose. 
Nature in this peece all her workes excell'd. 

Yet shewd her selfe imperfect in the close, 
For she forgott (when she soe faire did rayse her) 
To give the world a witt might duely prayse her. 

Her sweet and ruddy lipps, full of the fjTe 

Which once Prometheus stole awaye from heaven, 

Coulde by theu' kisses rayse a like desire 
To that by which Alcides once was driven 

To fifty bedds, and in one night entyre 
To fifty maides the name of mother given : 

But had he mett this dame first, all the other 

Had rested maides ; she fifty tymes a mother ! 


When that she spoake, as at a voice from heaven 
On her sweet words all eares and hearts attended ; 

When that she sung, they thought the planetts seaven 
By her sweet voice might well their tunes have 
mended ; 

When she did sighe, all were of joye bereaven; 

And when she smyld, heaven had them all befriended. 

If that her voice, sighes, smiles, soe many thrilld, 

O, had she kiss'd, how many had she kill'd ! 

Her hayre was flaxen, small, and full and long, 
Where%vith the softe enamour' d ayre did playe. 

And heere and there with pearles was quaintly strung ; 
When they were spredd (like to Apollo's raye) 

They made the brests of the Olimpicque throng 
To feele their flames, as we the flame of daye ; 

And to eternize what they sawe soe fayre. 

They made a constellation of her hayre. 

Her slender fingers (neate and worthy made 
To be the servants to soe much j)erfection) 

Joyn'd to a palme, whose touch woulde streight invade 
And bring a sturdy heart to lowe subjection. 

Her slender wrists two diamond braceletts lade, 
Made richer by soe sweet a soules election. 

O happy braceletts ! but more happy he 

To whom those armes shall as a bracelett be ! 

Nature, when she made woemens brests, was then 
In doubt of what to make them, or how stayned ; 

46 britAjStia's pastorals. 

If that she made them softe, she knewe that men 
Woulde seeke for rest there, where none coulde be 
gayned : 
If that she made them snow-like, they agen 

Woulde seeke for colde where love's hote flamings 
reigned ; 
She made them both, and men deceaved soe, 
Finde wakefullnes in downe, and fyre in snowe. 

Such were faire Psyche's lillyed bedds of love, 

Or rather two new worlds where men would faine 

Discover wonders, by her starres above. 

If any guide coulde bring them back againe. 

But who shall on those azure riveretts move 
Is lost, and wanders in an endles mayne ; 

Soe many graces, pleasures, there apply them, 

That man should need the worlds age to descry them. 

As when a woodman on the greeny lawnes. 

Where daylie chants the sadd-sweet nightingale, 

Woulde counte his heard, more bucks, more pricketts, 
Rush from the copps and put him from his tale ; 

Or some wayfaring man, when morning dawnes, 
Woulde tell the sweet notes in a joy some vale. 

At ev'ry foote a newe bird lights and sings, 

And makes him leave to counte their sonnettings, 

Soe when my willing muse would gladly dresse 
Her severall graces in immortall lines. 


Plenty impoores her ; ev'ry golden tresse, 
Each little dimple, every glance that shynes 

As radyant as Apollo, I confesse 

My skill too weake for soe admirde designes ; 

For whilst one beauty I am close about. 

Millions doe newly rise and put me out. 

Never was mayde to varyous nature bounde 

In greater bonds of thanckfullnes then she, 
As all eyes judg'd; nor on the massy round 

For all perfections coulde another be 
Upon whose any limme was to be founde 

Ought, that on hers coulde vante of masterie ; 
Yet thoughe all eyes had been a wishfull feaste, 
Whoe sawe nought but her body sawe her leaste. 

Blest was the wombe that bore soe faire a birth ; 

Blest was the birth for blessing of the wombe ; 
Blest was the hand that tooke her to the earth ; 

Blest ev'ry shady arbour, every roome ; 
Blest were the deserts roughe where zephir stirr'th ; 

Blest ev'ry craggy rock and rushy coombe : 
All things that held, touchd, sawe her, still confessed 
To tymes last periodd they were ever blessed. 

My fairest Coelia, when thyne eyes shall viewe 
These, and all other lynes ere writt by me, 

Wherein all beautyes are describ'd, and true, 
Thincke your devoted shepheards fantazie 

48 britania's pastorals. 

Rapt by those heavenly graces are in you, 

Had thence all matter fitt for elogie. 
Your blest endowments are my verses mothers, 
For by your sweetnesse I describe all others. 


]S C) 'I E 8 

P. 3, ]. 3. — /Soe shuts the marigold. Lupton, in his Boke 
of Notable Things, says, — "Some calles it Sponsus Solis, 
the spowse of the sunne, because it sleepes and is awakened 
with him." 

P. 11, 1. 8 — An arched cave. A margimxl note here 
occurs in the original, — " The Description of the Den of 

P. 12, I. ^\.—Moly. Gerard, in his Herhall, ed. 1597, 
quaintly observes respecting this plant, — " If any be desir- 
ous to heare of theire charming qualities, wherewith the 
Circes and magicians have used to bring to passe their dia- 
bolicall incantations, let them read Homer touching that 
matter in the twentie chapter of his Odysses, and there 
shall they finde matter scarce woorth the reading." 

P. 14, 1. 11. — Too-too. This word is a strengthening or 
intensative of too., and is not, as generally printed, two 
Avords. See a paper by Mr. Ilalliwell in the Shakespeare 
Society's " Papers". 


50 NOTES. 

P. 15, 1. 16. — Cadmus tovrne. The poet here, of course, 
alludes to the city of Thebes. 

P. 22, 1. 24. — Conducted. The original word in the MS. 
was transjjorted, which has been erased, and corrected as in 
the text, probably by the author. 

P. 24, 1. 6. — Wrought. Originally, worJce. 

P. 43, 1. 22. — Tri'pp. This duplication of the rhyme is 
a defect, and a more recent hand alters the word to stripp. 

P. 47, 1. 20. — Coomhe. That is, valley. See Holinshed's 
History of Ireland, p. 169, cited in Halliwell's Dictionary 
of Archaisms, p. 264. 





S ©talogue, 





In Fcrse. 






2Cl}e ^tm Societu* 







T. CROFTON CROKER, Esq., F.S.A., M.R.I.A., Treasurer. 



W. D. HAGGARD, Esq., F.S.A. 




JAMES PRIOR, Esq., F.S.A., M.R.I.A. 





The metrical dialogue contained in the following- 
pages has become known to the public chiefly 
from a reprint in quarto, executed in fac-simile by 
"J. Smeeton, Printer, 148, Saint Martin's Lane"' ; 
the publication of which is ascribed by Dr. 
Dibdin to ''Mr. Stace, the bookseller, who/' he 
sayS; ''published a very limited reprint of this 
scarce but not very amusing tract, of which he 
struck off some very few copies on vellum.'' It 
is remarkable that both the original edition and 
the reprint are without date. But in the Typo- 
graphical Antiquities of Ames and Herbert, as 
well as in Dr. Dibdin's enlarged edition of that 
work, "John Bon and Mast Person'' is placed 
among the earliest productions of the celebrated 
printer, John Day, and is assigned to the year 
1548. Herbert described it from a copy in his 
own possession ; which his Editor subsequently 


considered to be " almost unique'', adding, that 
(in 1819) it enriched the fine library of the 
Marquis of Bute, at Luton.* 

The cojDy from which the reprint was taken 
had belonged to the late Richard Forster, Esq., 
and contained the following manuscript note by 
that gentleman, which is subjoined to the reprint 
as a ninth page, the work itself consisting of only 
four leaves : — 

" This is the only copy of the Enterlude of John 
Bon and Mast Person, that I have ever met with. 
It is a bitter satire on the real presence. Daye, 
the printer of it, and also Seres, were brought into 
much trouble for printing only a few copies, 
which were nearly destroyed by the zealots of the 
old religion. There is no doubt but the buying 
up and destroying those kind of books (which 
were obnoxious to Cardinal Wolsey and others) 
was very common in those days, and made them 
very rare even in their own time.'' 

Lowndes, in his Bibliographer's Manual, gives 
the date of 1 807 to the reprint ; and says, that 
twenty-five copies were struck off" on parchment 
or vellum. One of those copies, in the possession 
of John Payne Collier, Esq., confirms this state- 

* Tijpographical Antiquities, ed. 1785, i, 619-20 ; ed. 
1819, IV. 54. 


ment, the first page being thus inscribed : — 
"George Nassau, Esquire, with Machell Stace's 
respect ;" (and below) "25 copies printed on 
chosen parchment/' The Editor has been favoured 
by Mr. Collier with the loan not only of that copy, 
but also of a neat transcript, made by the late 
Thomas Park, Esq., evidently from the original 
edition. This valuable transcript difiers in no 
less than twenty-six instances from the reprint, 
and has enabled the Editor to correct some places 
where the latter was inaccurate and unintelligible. 

That the date has been correctly ascertained by 
Herbert, is abundantly and satisfactorily proved ; 
not only by internal evidence, but also by the in- 
teresting story, contained in Strype's Ecclesiastical 
Memorials, which thus discloses the author of 
the work. 

" There was one Luke, a Physician of London, 
who wrote divers books against the Papists in the 
end of King Henry's reign : for which he had 
been imprisoned in the Fleet. In the first year 
of King Edward, he published one book, for 
which he was heavily cried out upon, by the 
Papists, to Sir John Gresham, the Lord Mayor. 
It was a Dialogue between John Boon and Master 
Parson ; which two persons were brought in, 
reasoning together of the natural presence in the 
sacrament ; but the author had concealed himself. 


It was writ very facetiously, aiid sprinkled with 
wit, severely biting now and then at the Priests. 
The book took much at the court, and the 
courtiers wore it in their pockets. But the Mayor 
had the book so illy represented unto him, that 
he was very angry, and sent for Day the printer 
of it, intending to make him discover the author, 
and to lay him in prison for printing the same. 
UnderhiP chanced to come in at this time, to 
desire aid of the Mayor to take Allen, before 
spoken of, who reported the King's death. The 
Mayor made Underhil dine with him ; and speak- 
ing to him at dinner concerning this book, the 
maker whereof (he told him) he intended to 
search for, that so, as it seems, Underhil might 
declare at court the diligence of the Mayor in his 
office ; he presently replied to him, that that hook 
was a good book ; adding, that he had himself one 
of them about him, and that there were many of 
them in the court. With that the Mayor desired 
to see it, and took it and read a little, and 
la.ughed thereat, as it was both pithy and merry. 
And by this seasonable interposition of Underhil, 

* " This gentleman," says Strype, " was one that deserves 
to have his name preserved in history. For he was a man 
zealous for pure religion, against superstition and impieties 
of all sorts, and made a figure in King Edward the Sixth's 
days, etc. {Eccl. Mem,, ii. 114.) 


John Day the printer, sitting at a side-board, 
after dinner was bidden to go home ; who had 
else gone to prison/'* 

This passage shows that neither Cardinal 
Wolsey nor Cardinal Pole had anything to do 
with the suppression of " John Bon" ; the one 
had died in 1530, the other was in England only 
from 1554 to 1558. The work seems rather to 
have been woi^n out in the pocket as a favourite, 
than wilfully destroyed as heterodox : for Protes- 
tantism was in the ascendant at its publication. 

With the Editor, " John Bon" hath ever been 
a favourite ; and he is confident that few will 
agree in the opinion of it already quoted from 
Dr. Dibdin. "John Bon" is the PiEES Plough- 
man of the sixteenth century. So characteristic 
and spirited is his part in the Dialogue, — so 
popular and forcible is his argument, — so justly 
severe are the rebukes administered to the Parson, 
that " John Bon" may be read more than once 
without disrelish ; and the scarceness both of the 
original and of the black-letter reprint will justify 
the re-issue of it, as a parting gift, to the Members 
of the Percy Society, — a small but not unapt 
conclusion of the interesting series of old English 

* Strype's Ecclesiastical Memorials, vol. ii. p. 116 (pp. 
182-3, ed. Oxford, 1822, 8vo). 


poetical and popular literature which they have 
recalled into existence. 


Mill Yard, 

27 May, 1852. 

ITo^n Bon anti 

iVIast person 

^^ Alasse, poore fooles ! so sore ye be lade, 
No marvel it is, thoughe your shoulders ake : 
For ye beare a great God, which ye yourselfes made. 
Make of it what ye wyl, it is a wafar cake. 
And betwen two irons printed it is and bake. 
And loke, where idolatrye is, Christ wyl not be there ; 
Wherfore, ley downe your burden, an idole ye do beare. 
Q^ Alasse, poore fooles ! 



(jirf' THE PARSON. 

What, John Bon ! good morowe to the ! 


Nowe goode morowe, mast Parson, so mut I thee. 


What meanest thou, John, to be at worke so sone ? 


The zoner I begyne, the zoner shall I have done ; 
For I tende to warke no longer than none. 


Mary, John, for that God's blessinge on thy herte ; 
For surely some therbe wyl go to ploughe an carte, 
And set not by thys holy Corpus Christ! even. 


They aer the more to blame, I swere by saynt Steven. 
Bat tell me, mast Parson, one thinge, and you can ; i" 
What saynt is Copsi Cursty, a man, or a woman ? 



Why, John, knoweste not that ? I tell the it was a man. 
It is Christe his own selfe, and to morowe is hys 

daye ; 
We beare hym in prosession, and thereby knowe it ye 



I knowe, mast Parson ? and na, by my faye : 
But me thinke it is a mad thinge that ye saye, 
That it should be a man ; howe can it come to passe ? 
Because ye maye hym beare with in so smal a glasse. 


Why, neybor John, and art thou nowe there ? 

Nowe I maye perceyve ye love thys newe geare. ^o 


God's forbod, master, I should be of that facion : 
I question wy your mashippe in waye of cumlication. 
A playne man, ye may se, wil speake as cometh to 

mind ; 
Ye muste hold us ascused, for plowemen be but blynd. 
I am an elde felowe of fifty wynter and more. 
And yet, in all my lyfe, I knewe not this before. 


No dyd ? why sayest thou so? upon thy selfe thou lyest: 
Thou haste ever knowen the sacramente to be the 
body of Christ. 



Ye syr, 3^e say true ; all that I know in dede ; 

And yet, as I remember, it is not in my crede. '^^ 

But as for Cropsy Cursty to be a man or no, 

I knewe not till thys day, by the waye my soule shal to. 


Why, folishe felowe, I tell the it is so ; 

For it was so determined by the churche longe ago : 

It is both the sacramente and very Christ him selfe. 


Nospleaser, mast Parson ; then make yeChriste an elfe, 
And the maddest made man that ever body sawe. 


What ? peace, mad man ! thou speakeste lyke a dawe. 
It is not possible hys manhode for to se — 


Why, sir, ye tell me it is even verye he ; ^^ 

And if it be not his manhode, his godhed it must be. 


I tell the, none of both ; what meaneste thou, art thou mad ? 


No, nother mad nor drunke, but to learne I am glade : 
But to displease your mashippe I woulde be very loth. 
Ye graunt me here playnly, that it is none of boeth ; 
Then it is but a cake, but I pray ye be not wroth. 



Wroth, quod ha ! by the masse, (thou makest me swere 

an othe,) 
I hade lever wyth a docter of divinitie to reason, 
Then with a stubble cur that eateth beanes and 

peason. 49 


I crie ye mercye, mast Person; pacience for a season ! 
In all thys cumlicacion is nother felony nor treason. 


No, by the masse, but herest thou r it is playne heresye. 


I am glade it chaunced so, theyr was no witnes by ; 
And if ther had I cared not, for ye spake as yl as I. 
I speake but as I harde you saye, I wot not what ye 

thought ; 
Ye sayd it was not God, nor man, and made it worsse 

then nought. 


I ment not so ; thou tokeste me wronge. 


A, sir ! ye singe another songe ; 

I dare not reason wyth you longe. 

I se well nowe, ye have a knacke ^^ 

To say a thinge and then go backe. 



No, John ; I was but a littyll over sene. 
But thou mentest not good fayeth, I wene, 
In all thys talke that was us betwene. 


I ? no, trowe, it shannot so beene 

That John Bon shall an heretike be calde : 

Then myght he laye him so fowle befalde. 


But nowe, if thou wylt marke me welle. 

From begynninge to endynge, I wyl the tell 

Of the godly service that shalbe to morowe ; "^ 

That, or I have done, no doubte thou wylt sorowe, 

To here that suche thynges should be fordone. 

And yet, in many places, they have begun 

To take a waye the olde, and set up newe. 

Beleve me, John, thys tale is true. 


Go to, mast Parson, saye on, and well to thryve ; 
Ye be the jolest gemman that ever sawe in my lyve. 


We shal firste have matins : is it not a godlye hereynge ? 


Fie ! yes ; me thinke 'tis a shamefull gay chearynge ; 
For of ten times, on my prayers when I take no greate kepe, 
Ye sing so arantly well, ye make me fal a slepe. ^^ 



Then have we prosession, and Christe aboute we beare. 


That is a poysone holy thinge, for God himselfe is 


Than comme we in, and redy us dresse, 
Full solempnely to goo to masse. 


Is not here a mischevous thynge F 

The messe is vengaunce holye, for all ther sayeinge. 


Then saye we Confiteor and Miseriatur, 


Jeze Lord ! 'tis abbominable matter. 


And then we stande up to the auter. 


Thys geere is as good as onr Ladies Sawter. 


And so gose fourth wyth the other dele, 
Tyll we have rede the Pistell and Gospell. 



That is good, mast Person, I knowe ryght well. 


Is that good ? why, what sayste thou to the other ? 


Mary, horrible good, I saye none other. 


So is all the messe, I dare avow this, 

As good in every poynte as Pistell or Gospel is. 


The fowle evyll it is ; whoe woulde thynke so muche ? 
In fayeth I ever thought that it had bene no suche. ^^^ 


Then have we the Canon, that is holyest. 


A spightfull gay thynge, of all that ever I wyst. 


Then have we the Memento, even before the sa- 


Ye are morenly well learned, I se by your recknynge, 
That ye wyll not forget such an elvyshe thynge. 



And after that we consecrate very God and man ; 
And turne the breade to fleshe with fyve wordes we can. 


The devell ye do ! I trowe. Ther is pestilence biisines ! 
Ye are much bounde to God for suche a spittell holines. 
A gallows gay gifte ! wyth fyve wordes alone ^^"^ 

To make boeth God and man, and yet wese none ! 
Ye talke so unreasonably well, itmakethmy herte yerne. 
As elde a felow as yche am, I se well I may learne. 


Yea, John ; and then, wyth wordes holy and good, 
Even by and by, we tourne the wyne to bloude. 


Lo ! wyll ye se ? Lo ! who would have thought it. 
That ye could so sone from wine to bloud ha brought it ? 
And yet, except your mouth be better tasted than myne, 
I can not fele it other but that it should be wyne. 
And yet I wote nere a cause ther may be whye, ^^^ 
Perchaunce, ye ha dronke bloude ofter then ever dyd I. 


Truely, John, it is bloud, though it be wine in taste ; 
As soone as the worde is spoke, the wyne is gone and past. 


A sessions on it, for me, my wyttes are me benumme ; 
For I can not study where the wyne shoulde become. 



Study, quod ha ! beware, and let suche matter go ; 
To meddle muche vvyth thys, may brynge ye sone to 


Yea ; but, mast Parson, thynke ye it were ryght, 
That, if I desired you to make my blake oxe whight, 
And you saye it is done, and styl is blacke in syght, 
Ye myght me deme a foole for to beleve so lyght ? ^^i 


I marvell muche ye wyll reason so farre : 
I feare if ye use it, it wyll ye mar. 


No, no, sir ! I truste of that I wylbe ware. 

I pray you wyth your matter agayne fourth to fare. 


And then we go forth, and Christes body receyve ; 
Evyn the very same that Mary dyd conceyve. 


The devill it is ! ye have a greate grace 
To eate God and man in so short a space. 


And so we make an ende, as it lieth in an order. '^^^ 
But now the blissed messe is hated in every border, 


And railed on, and reviled, with wordes most blasphe- 
But I trust it wylbe better with the help of Catechismus; 
For, thoughe it came forth but even that other day, 
Yet nath it tourned many to ther olde waye ; 
And where they hated messe, and had it in disdayne, 
There have they messe and matins in Latyne tongue 

Ye, even in London selfe, (John) I tel the troeth. 
They be ful glade and mery to here of thys, Godknoweth. 


By my trueth, mast Parson, I lyke ful wel your talke : 
But masse me no more messinges. The right way wil 

I walke. 151 

For thoughe I have no learning, yet I know chese from 

And yche can perceive your juggling, as crafty as ye 

But leve your devilish masse, and the communion to 

you take. 
And then will Christe be with you, even for his promisse 



Why, art thou suche a one, and kept it so closse ? 
Wel, al is not golde that hath a fayre glosse. 
Butfarewel, John Bon, God bringe the in better mind. 


I thanke you, sir, for that you seme verie kynde ; 


But praye not so for me, for I am well inoughe. ^^^ 
Wliystill, boy ! drive furth ! God spede us and the 

plough ! 
Ha I browne done ! forth that horson crabbe ! 
Reecomomyne, garlde, wyth haight blake hab ! 
Have a gayne, bald before, hayght ree who ! 
Cherly boy, cum of, that whomwarde we may goo. ^' 


(^ Imprinted at London, by John Daye, and 

WiLLYAM Seres, dwellinge in Sepulchres Parishe, 

at the signe of the Resurrection, a littel 

above Holbourne Conduite. 



Line 2. So mut I thee. A form of asseveration, meaning 
" so might I thrive !" In East Anglia the phrase has been 
corrupted into Sammodithee, "which occurs among the 
Norfolk words mentioned in Sir Thomas Browne's Mis- 
cellany Tracts ; and on it the following note, by the pre- 
sent editor, has been already printed : — " Sammodithee is 
an old oath, or asseveration, sd mot I the, so may I thrive ! 
Als mot I the is common in antient English, and so the ih 
in Chaucer. See Tyrwhitt's and other Glossaries, in v. The, 
which is the Anglo-Saxon ^ean, to thrive." (Browne's 
works, by Wilkin, London, 1835, 8vo., iv. 205.) 

Line 5. Tende. Intend. 

Line 18. Glasse. The pix, in which the host was carried 

Line 20. This newe cjeare. This new "fashion", as John 
calls it in the next line ; namely, the reformation of re- 

Line 21. God's forhod. Forhode is here a noun, meaning 
prohibition : in the vulgar phrase the verb is used, '' God 
forbid !" 

Line 22. Mashippe. Mastership. 

Line 22. Cumlication. Communication, or conversation. 
See also line 51. 



Line 24. Ascused. Excused. 

Line 36. No spleaser. No displeasure ! Be not dis- 
pleased with me 1 See line 44. 

Line 46. Then it is. " Then is it" in Mr. Park's tran- 

Idne 49. Peason. Peas ; meaning that John Bon was 
a "chawbacon" or clownish fellow. 
Line 62. Over-sene. Incautious. 

Line 67. Then myght he laye him sofowle hefalde. This 
obscure line perhaps means that, if he should so disgrace 
himself as to be justly called a heretic, then he might lie 
(as he deserved) in the mire. But in the reprint the word 
laye is misprinted "saye." The correction is made on the 
authority of Mr. Park's transcript. 

Line 72. Fordone. Discontinued, or abolished. 
Line 77. Jolesi gemman. The jolliest gentleman, for 
saying laughable things. John begins now to joke the 
Parson, having found it useless to reason with him any 
longer. See line 59. 

Li7ie 80. Take no greate kepe. Give little heed or at- 

Line 88. Confiteor and Misereatur. These are parts of 
the " Ordinary of the Mass" ; the first to be said by the 
priest at the step of the altar, the second by the deacon 
and sub-deacon at his sides. They stand thus in the 
Salisbury Missal : — " Confiteor Deo, beatae Marise*, omnibus 
Sanctis, et vobis, quia peccavi nimis cogitatione, locutione, 
et opere. Mea culpa ! Precor sanctam Mariam, otnnes 
sanctos Dei, et vos, orare pro me. Ministri respondeant. 
Misereatur vestri omnipotens Deus, et dimittat vobis omnia 
peccato vestra : liberet vos ab omni malo, conservet et 
confirmet in bono, et ad vitam perducat aeternam. Sacerdos. 


Amen," etc. (Missale ad usum insignis ecclesiae Sarum, 
1527, fol.) 

Line 91. Thysgeere. This piece of furniture, the altar ; 
or, perhaps, this part of the ceremony. 

Line 91. Our Ladies Sawter. Apparently certain prayers 
to the Virgin Mary, beginning with " 0." To a copy in 
one of the Harleian.MSS, is prefixed the following account 
of the supposed advantages of a daily repetition of those 
superstitious devotions : — " Si aliquis dicat cotidie Psalte- 
rium beate Marie virgiuis per annum, habebit qualibet die 
viginti quatuor annos et triginta septimanas et tres dies 
indulgencie. Summa in septimana, C^^. Ixxvij anni, xxv 
septimane et ij dies. Summa totalis, si quis per annum 
cotidie dicat Psalterium beate Marie, ix Milia CCC. v. 
anni, centum et xl. dies." (Harl. MS. 211, f. 147^-) 

Line 103. Memento. This is the prayer for the dead, 
in the Canon of the Mass, beginning — " Memento etiam 
Domine famulorum famularumque tuarum N. et iV.," etc. 

Line 103. Sacringe. Consecration of the host. See 
lines 106 and 107. 

Line 104. Morenly. Learned, with a murrain (or plague) 
upon it ! Cursedly learned ! 

Line 111. And yet wese none. So all the copies. The 
word wese is either an original misprint for %oe se (see) ; or 
else it stands for we''re, and means, though we ourselves are ' 
not possessed of creative power. 

Line 113. Yche am. I am. See also line 153. 

Line Wo. Even by and by. Instantaneously. 

Line 116. "Zo wyll ye se lo ? who woidde have thought 
it.'''' Thus in the original, as witnessed by Mr. Park's tran- 
script : but the line is rendered unintelligible in the re- 
print, by the misprinting of " Ic" for the second lo. 


Line 117. Bloud. So in Mr. Park's transcript ; " blood" 
in the reprint. 

Line X"^^. Are me hermmme. Are taken from me. From 
nim^ to take, nome, took, nome^ or num^ taken. 

Lines 125-6. Study. Understand, or find out. Like a 
genuine priest of old times, the Parson discourages the 
exercise of understanding and reason in religion. 

Line 131. So lyght. So easily ; so readily to believe a 
thing contrary to common sense and ocular demonstration. 

Line 143. Catechismus. The Catechism of the Council 
of Trent cannot be that which is here referred to ; for, though 
it began to sit in 1545, that work was not published until 
1566. Archbishop Cranmer's book, entitled " A short in- 
struction to Christian Religion, for the singular profit of 
children and young people," and commonly called his 
" Catechism," seems to be the work intended : it was 
designed indeed to promote the Reformation, but from the 
accident of a picture at the beginning, which represented 
" an altar with candles lighted, and the priest appareled 
after the old sort, putting the wafer into the communicant's 
mouth," advantage was taken by the Papists. The picture 
was therefore altered in a subsequent edition. (See Strype's 
Life of Cranmer, p. 160 ; Oxford ed., i. pp. 227-8.) 

Liyie 151. Masse one no more messinges. Celebrate no 
more masses for me. 

Line 163. Reecomomyne. " Ree" is a distinct syllable 
in Mr. Park's transcript, as in the next line. This is the 
Ploughman's language to his team of horses. 




ON THE 26th FEBRUARY, 1852. 

At the Eleventh Annual- Meeting of the Percy 
Society, held on the 9th May 1851, 1 had the honour 
to be elected your Treasurer. 

Upon inspection of the accounts, I could not help 
observing that what always appeared to me to be two 
objectionable practices had existed almost from the 
commencement of the Society. First, that of appro- 
priating Subscriptions paid before they became due, 
in advaiice, towards the liquidation of debts that had 
been incurred, instead of reserving them as paid in 
advance to meet growing expenses ; and, secondly, 
throwing the payment for books issued in one year 
upon the funds of another. 

There can be no doubt that the necessity for this 
mode of dealing arose from the conduct of many of 
the Members, neglecting to pay their Subscription at 
the period when it became due, and some allowing 


their Subscriptions to run for several years into arrear, 
although repeatedly applied to on the subject — so that 
to arrive at the real state of the Society's income, 
which should regulate its expenses, became every year 
more and more difficult ; and although I have done my 
utmost to ascertain the actual amount, I will not pre- 
sume to assert that I have been able to do so accu- 
rately or in a satisfactory manner. And for these 
reasons; that my respectful applications for payment 
of moneys absolutely due to the Society, in some in- 
stances have neither been attended to nor answered ; 
and sometimes, when replied to, the answers have 
been vague, unsatisfactory, and even impertinent. For 
instance, one gentleman when requested to pay £4, 
informed me on the 28th July, 1851, ''that he would 
communicate further with me after seeing a gentleman 
at present in Norway." Another gentleman, when 
applied to for £2, answers on the 3rd August, 1851, 
that another gentleman would arrange his account. 
(No notice that I am aware of before yesterday was taken 
of either of these communications). Again, an agent of 
the Society, when I applied by printed circular letter to 
certain Members for their Subscriptions, and whose 
names appeared upon my list as defaulters, is pleased 
to term the conduct of your Treasurer ''rude" and 
"insolent," and has certainly given some erroneous 
information (2nd December, 1851), which will require 
further investigation : he is, however, no longer your 
agent. And, in another case, of application for £10, 
I am told that personal chastisement was certainly not 

inflicted, but threatened. It is, however, unnecessary 
for me to multiply cases of the difficulties that present 
themselves to the collection of the small funds, upon 
which the existence of the Percy Society depends. At 
the same time, I am bound publicly to return to the 
majority of the Members of that Society, my sincere 
thanks for the courteous manner in which they have 
responded to my letters, and afibrded me the oppor- 
tunity of offering explanations. One gentleman, in 
particular, writes (23rd October, 1851), ''I suppose 
the financial condition of the Society is not satisfactory, 
from its coming under the final consideration of the 
Council. If you will allow me, as a subscribing 
Member, to express an opinion, I think it is often well 
for such Societies to have a limit to their existence. 
They generally begin by publishing valuable works 
which are much wanted, but after some time go on 
publishing simply because they are in existence ; then 
subscribers become tired of paying, receiving, and 
reading. I do not say this by way of finding any fault 
with what the Percy Society has done : but it seems 
to be the lot of such bodies in general. Could we end 
with our hundredth number, or twelfth year, or some 
fixed period, I think we might do so with advantage. 
Monumentmn exegimus, and I should like to bind my 
numbers with the knowledge that they were a complete 
set. Should the Society live on, however, I shall hope 
to continue one of its Members." 

The late Treasurer's audited Account, laid before 
the General Meeting of the 9th May 1851, shewed 

that, notwithstanding subscriptions which had been 
received to meet the demands upon the Society up to 
the 1st May 1852, to the amount of £24, this sum 
(according to usual practice) had been carried to 
account in expenditure for the years 1850-51; and, 
further, that the sum of £13 : 18 : 5 remained as a 
balance due to the late Treasurer, It must, however, 
be admitted against this appropriation of £24, which, 
in my opinion, should have been brought to the credit 
of the Society in my Account, that there should fairly 
be considered as a set off £39, the amount of arrears 
received during our financial year, as I would have the 
same chance of collecting and carrying to account all 
arrears that your late Treasurer had, although I object 
to the system of anticipating the income by which our 
annual expenditure should be guided; however, the 
Auditors' Report would shew this fact, that the number 
of paying Members of the Percy Society on the 9th 
May, 1851, w^as actually no more than one hundred 
and thirty three, and therefore its income, upon which 
I had to calculate, so many pounds. 

From this statement, according to my view of the 
case, it will appear that I entered upon the office of 
Treasurer in debt to the amount of £37 : 18 : 5, and 
the sums for which six Members had compounded 
having been expended, with the prospect only of an 
income of £103, supposing the Members neither to 
decrease by death or resignation, nor to increase by 
desire to possess the Society's works. The former 
amounted to a certainty — the latter became improbable 

as a numerical calculation, for the Society had long 
since ceased to be able to supply a complete set of its 
books to any new Member who might feel inclined to 
join it. Besides the balance of £13 : 18 : 5 reported to 
me as due to the late Treasurer, I ascertained that there 
were unliquidated claims for printing, paper, and other 
matters, incurred during the year 1850-51, amounting 
to about £66, making a total of £79 : 18 : 5. 

With this no very agreeable knowledge, of having 
about Twenty Pounds at your disposal for 1851-52, I 
found myself the Treasurer of the Percy Society, and 
immediately felt it to be my duty most strongly to 
urge upon the consideration of the Council the financial 
circumstances of the Society, which I did at the first 
subsequent Meeting on the 5th June last, when I was 
authorized to take such steps as I might consider to be 
necessary to get in the arrears. 

Opposed, however, to this gloomy picture, there w^as 
the knowledge that the Society possessed a valuable 
stock of books, which, if sold, would I believe place at 
their disposal for the current year a larger sum of 
money than the Society ever possessed, having been 
estimated for the purpose of insurance, and being in- 
sured, at four hundred pounds. But the feeling of the 
Council (in which, as an individual, I confess I do not 
concur) w^as opposed to selling our stock, at least with- 
out the entire concurrence of a General Meeting. 
Had this step been taken by the Council, I can have 
no hesitation in assuring you that they could have pro- 
duced at least the usual number of works, or if the 

dissolution of the Society was resolved upon, that I 
would have the pleasure to return to each Member the 
full amount of his Subscription for the current year, if 
not more, and that even this would also have enabled 
the Council to give the most liberal consideration to 
the claims — if claims they can be called — of those who 
compounded eleven years since by the payment of ten 
pounds for the annual payment of one. 

I had also the cheering assurance from the auditors 
of the late Treasurer's accounts, that there appeared 
" to remain due to the Society unreceived Subscriptions 
for the previous years to the amount of about £200, which 
there was every reason to believe will be paid." This 
would have been satisfactory enough had not the 
following note been appended to the report of the 
auditor read at the General Annual Meeting of 1851. 

''And I also certify that the Treasurer has reported 
to me that Subscriptions for the past year, and arrears 
to a considerable amount, are still due, the whole of which 
there is every reason to believe will be received, and it is 
hoped within a short period." Adding, in an emphatic 
manner, thathe urged "upon the 3fembers the necessity of 
paying their SahscrijJtions as early as convenient in the 
year, in order that the Council may he able to judge of 
the funds at its disposal P 

It may further be observed that the report of the 
auditors to the General Annual Meeting of 1850, stated 
that " there remain unreceived Subscriptions for the 
past year, and arrears, to the amount of nearly £200 ; 
the whole of which, there is every reason to believe. 

will be received, and it is hoped within a short period." 
Concluding their report with the same emphatic com- 
ment echoed by their successor. 

Now for facts, without supposition. Out of the 
£200 mentioned in the Auditors' Report for 1850, only 
£68, or about one third of the anticipated amount, 
appears to have been actually received ; and out of the 
anticipated ''considerable amount" of arrears in 1851, 
only £39, or little more than half of the arrears brought 
to account at the previous audit. It therefore became 
a doubtful question what amount the anticipated £200, 
with which I did not even receive the assurance of a 
hope that it would be paid '' icitliin a short period^^'' 
would produce on the credit side of your account. I 
am now, however, happy to acknowledge the receipt 
of £61, W'ith every confidence that before my accounts 
for the year are closed, about the 25th of April next, 
the amount of arrears which I shall have to write off 
against this £200 will exceed that which appears in the 
Report of the Auditors for 1850. 

After being appointed your Treasurer, my first step 
was to compile as accurate a list as possible from the 
documents supplied to me of all who were considered 
to be Members of the Percy Society. To ascertain 
their correct addresses was a work of no small labour. 
Many were in America — some in the East Indies — 
more, I regret to add, from the letters returned to me 
by the post-office, marked '' gone away " — '' nowhere 
to be found " — and ''not known" — were scarcely worth 
the trouble of making further inquiries about with 


reference to your funds ; while other of the letters 
returned to me bore the melancholy notation of ''dead." 
I wished to ascertain under what circumstances so large 
an amount as £200 could have accumulated, with the 
hope, however slight, that I might have the pleasure 
of placing the whole of that sum to your credit. 

The examination and correction of the lists and 
documents furnished to me occupied considerable time 
and required close attention ; for it did not appear to 
have been the annual practice of your Councils to 
revise and print a list of the Members — I believe from 
motives of economy — nor can I ascertain the date of 
the last printed list with which I was supplied on 
becoming your Treasurer, corrected in manuscript from 
the records of the Society — because it is without date. 
Every one must feel, and more especially in matters of 
account, that it is necessary to proceed systematically 
with an investigation where doubtful and debatable 
points may arise. Now the difficulty presented by our 
financial year commencing on the 1st of May in one 
year, and terminating on the 30th of April in the 
following, and of all Subscriptions being due in advance, 
appeared generally to be so little understood that it 
involved me in a very troublesome and unsatisfactory 
correspondence. I will only detain you by reading one 
amusing reply, which I certainly must admit, with a 
promise of payment, comes from Ireland (9th of 
August, 1851): '* I cannot understand how I am a 
defaulter for the year 1852. The application I had 
before I received yours claimed £8 for eight years. 

You claim £7 for seven years, including a year which, 
if it comes at all, will not be here for four months. 
Either the accounts are oddly kept or I am mistaken 
grievously, at all events I will send you the Subscription 
for the years ending 1851, and request my name may 
be erased from the Society after that period." 

Upon this communication, I need scarcely observe 
to you that the payment of a pound or two on account 
of arrears would make any accounts appear to be oddly 
kept, and is, in my humble opinion, a most objection- 
able practice; either the whole demand should be 
met, or if the demand is supposed to be incorrect 
an explanation requested, for who is not liable to 
error? or after a reasonable and specified time, say 
three or six months, the defaulter's name removed 
from the list of Members. 

It was not until the end of July last, that I found 
myself in a position to address a circular letter to all 
who had been Members of the Percy Society, and 
whose names had been returned to me as being more 
than one year in arrear of their Subscriptions. And 
in consequence I dispatched, on the 25th and 26th of 
July, no less than sixty-nine letters, to one of which I 
received an answer in the course of the first-named 
day, assuring me that the writer would call upon 
Mr. Richards and pay £3. Respecting this assurance 
either the accounts of the Society's printer must be in 
error, or, notwithstanding the apparent business-like 
habits of your Treasurer's correspondent, his want of 
memory to be regretted. 


On the 29th of July I dispatched twenty-nine similar 
circular letters soliciting the payment of debts due to 
the Society : of these ninety-eight letters thirty-four only 
have been honoured by the slightest notice, and your 
Treasurer further made, and caused to be made, 
personal applications for the recovery of arrears, and 
with the result of one of which applications you have 
been made acquainted. 

Awaiting my Report the Council of the Percy 
Society held no Meetings during the months of August 
and September 1851, and on the Second of October I 
placed before them the following statement, showing 
that 237 names appeared upon the list furnished to me, 
and that of these 

1 was in arrear 10 years <£10 






420 in arrear. 

4 were 

in arrear 

9 ,5 

None , 


8 5, 

3 , 


7 55 

7 „ 


6 ,5 

18 „ 


5 5, 

11 „ 


4 „ 

16 , 

> )5 

3 „ 

22 „ 


2 5, 

85 , 


1 5, 

64 had paid for 1851-52 
6 had Compounded 

Total... 237 

From which it would appear that the Auditors of 
1850-51 had then considered that £200, or there- 


abouts, may be written off, in mercantile phraseology, 
as "bad debts." 

To sixty-four annual subscribing Members, six com- 
pounding Members being added, made the total number 
seventy, and as £24 of the annual Subscription had 
been appropriated, it left but £40 in your Treasurer's 
hands, with the chance of collecting arrears, to meet 
debts and probable demands, which, on the 2nd 
October 1851, he estimated at about £88. 

Upon this Report, the Council was pleased to direct 
the Treasurer to call in all outstanding Subscriptions 
due (in advance) on the 1st May 1851, and in conse- 
quence he had the honour to address another circular 
letter, dated the 2nd October, and to send duplicates 
to all who had not replied to his circular of the previous 
July, and who still might be pleased to consider them- 
selves as Members of the Percy Society. 

He was further ordered by the Council to revise his 
list of Members, and to place on a separate one, for 
their confidential consideration, the names of all who 
were in arrear of their Subscriptions, distinguishing 
those who had not replied to or noticed his circular 
letter of July. 

This order was strictly obeyed. And he now finds 
the name of J. B. Elliot, Esq., Patna, East Indies, 
returned to him as having paid his Subscription for 
1852-53, which, instead of appropriating, it is your 
Treasurer's wish should be transferred to his suc- 
cessor's Account, or carried to the Account of Mr. 
Elliot by Mr. Richards, who I have ascertained will be 
responsible for that amount to him. 


At the Council Meeting of the 6th November, 1851, 
I had the satisfaction to announce that all claims upon 
the Society, so far as I could ascertain, might at once 
be liquidated. On the 6th November, 1851, your 
Treasurer found the exact demands of which he was 
cognizant against the Percy Society to be £80 : 13 : 5, 
to meet which he had £122 absolutely at his command, 
leaving an available cash balance of £42 : 13 : 5 at the 
disposal of the Council, which he had every reason to 
believe would be speedily increased to upwards of £60 ; 
and that still a large amount of arrears appeared to be 
due to the Society; but that until those who had 
ceased to be Members could be distinctly distinguished 
from those who considered themselves to be so, and 
had received the books of the Society without pay- 
ment of their Subscriptions, it would be impossible for 
him to make up even an estimate more closely. 

The Council then ordered twenty-three names of 
parties who had not received the books of the Society, 
and had neglected to reply to the original and duplicate 
of the Treasurer's circular of July last, to be removed 
from the list of Members of the Percy Society. 

And resolved with the funds at their command, that 
two hundred and fifty, or half the number of copies, 
usually printed, of the third and inedited book of 
Browne's Britannia' s Pastorals should be printed. 
This has been done, and will soon after the 1st of 
next month, be ready for delivery to the Members, the 
actual number of whom on Monday last (23rd Febru- 
ary,. 1852) I had the honour to report to the Council 


to be one hundred and twenty-eight, shewing only a 
decrease which may be accounted for by deaths and 

I would observe that cases may and probably will 
arise, when the proceedings of this Meeting become 
generally known, which will require the serious con- 
sideration of your Council, who I feel convinced, and 
I think I may confidently assure you, will deal with any 
such cases as may come before them in the most 
generous spirit, however little the applicants may have 
merited any claim to attention or favourable regard. 

Finally, I have the honour to place before you an 
estimate, which, however, cannot be much in error, 
and which will shew the available balance in my hands, 
clear of all demands, at the disposal of the Council, on 
this day, to be £62: 11 : 7, with which knowledge it 
was impossible that I could recommend to them, upon 
the principles I have advocated, undertaking the print- 
ing of a work of any extent, with the issue of title- 
pages, and the payment of other incidental charges, 
which might and certainly would be incurred in bring- 
ing the affairs of the Percy Society to an honourable 
and, I hope, satisfactory conclusion. 

















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Extracts from the Minutes of the Council and Committee 

appointed and empowered hy the General Meeting of 

the Percy Society, held 2Qth Fehruary, 1852, to ivind 

up the affairs of the Society. 

Council Meeting. 4th March, 1852 

" It was resolved that a Committee, consisting of 
Mr. Chappell and Mr. Fairholt, be formed to take the 
subject of the distribution of books into consideration, 
having reference to the numbers and priority of sub- 

Council Meeting. 18th March, 1852. 

" It was unanimously resolved that the third book 
of 'Browne's Britannia's Pastorals' [No. XCIII,] be 
issued at once, appending only the Resolutions passed 
at the General Meeting, and a notice that the title- 
pages, list of Members, table of contents, etc., will be 
issued as soon after the termination of the current 
year as possible." 

" Mr. Chappell and Mr. Fairholt having reported 
that they had gone through the books and ascertained 
the absolute state of the stock, and the state of the 
Members with regard to the priority of Membership, 
it was resolved that a single copy of each issue should 
be distributed to the now continuing Members, who 
shall have paid the subscriptions for such issues, leaving 
the rest of the stock for future consideration." 

" It was resolved that the Secretary be requested to 
issue a circular to those JMembers in arrear of their 
subscriptions, informing them of the Resolutions passed 
at the General Meeting, and stating that the 30th of 
April will be the last day of subscriptions being re- 
ceived, prior to the books being distributed amongst 
the Members. 

" It was resolved that the Council be adjourned (to 
meet in Committee) to Monday, May 3rd." 

Committee Meeting. 3rd May, 1852. 

'• It was resolved that Mr. Chappell and Mr, Fair- 
holt be continued a Committee for settling the dis- 
tribution of the books, and that they be authorized to 
carry out the distribution on the terms mentioned in 
the previous Resolutions, and that the parcels be sent 
to the Members of the Society, carriage free, as early 
as possible." 

" It was resolved that the ' Interlude of John Bon 
and Mast Person ' [No. XCIV,] edited by ]\Tr. Black, 
be prefixed to the next and final issue, containing the 
title-pages. List of Members, and accounts." 

" It was resolved that after the payments due from 
the Society have been discharged, the Treasurer be 
authorized to distribute the balance in equal pro- 
portions amongst the Members of the late Society." 

Notice was then given of the following Resolution. 

"That the arrears due to the late Society, which 
shall not have been received when the Treasurer's 
accounts are wound up, be granted to the Literary 
Fund, and that a list of the Subscribers so in arrear 
be handed over to the managers of the Fund for the 
purpose of collection." 

" It was resolved that the last Auditors be requested 
to audit the Treasurer's accounts." 

Committee Meeting. IQth June, 1852. 

" Mr. Crofton Croker having stated his inability to 
obtain a Meeting with the late Auditors in time for 
the present Meeting, it was resolved that the accounts 
be audited by the late Council of this Percy Society 
now in Committee." 


The accounts were then carefully examined — the 
Treasurer producing all the vouchers — and the sum of 

£123 : 18 : 1 

appeared to be in the hands of the Treasurer to the 
credit of the late Society on this day. 

A bill for a wood-cut, amounting to £1, was ordered 
to be paid, and 

" It was resolved that a gratuity of £5 be presented 
to Mr. Honeyman, in acknowledgment of his long 
continued services to the Society. 

"The balance in hand being ,£123 : 18 : 1, and the 
estimated cost of printing and further expenses of the 
Society amounting to .£63 : 3 : 1, there remains a 
balance of £60 : 15, which amount being divided 
amongst 162 Members, gives a dividend to each of 
seven shillings and sixpence." 

" It was resolved that the sum of seven shillings and 
sixpence be the dividend so to be distributed among 
the Members." 

" It was resolved that the Treasurer be requested to 
forward an order on Mr. Richards for seven shillings 
and sixpence to each Member, payable before the 1st 
day of October next, and that all further details respect- 
ing this arrangement be left to Mr. Crofton Croker's 
discretion, he having kindly undertaken the manage- 
ment of it." 

"Mr. Fairholt reported from the Committee for 
distribution, that in arranging the sets due to the 
Members, the Compounders have received prior ad- 
vantages, both numerically and as to those works of 
which the fewest copies remained." 

"It was resolved that the few remaining copies of 
the Society's works, being triplicates of those distri- 
buted to the Members, with the wood-blocks thereto 
belonging, be sent to the respective editors of the 
various works, who did not cease to be Members." 


Hon. Secretary of the late Percy Society. 

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€ftt ^errj) M>o(itt^ 

At a General Meeting of the Percy Society, 
held at the Rooms of the Royal Society of 
Literature, on Friday, 9th May, 1851, 

The LORD BRAYBROOKE, the President, 
in the Chair. 

The President having opened the business of 
the Meeting, the Secretary read the Report of the 
Council agreed upon at then* previous Meeting ; 
whereupon it was — 

Resolved, That the Report of the Council be received 
and printed, and that the thanks of the Society 
be given to them for their services during the 
past year. 

The Treasurer then read the Report of the 
Auditors, whereupon it was — 

Resolved, That the Report of the Auditors be 
received and printed, and that the thanks of the 
Society be given to them for their services. 


The Meeting then proceeded to the election of 
a President and Council for the year next ensuing, 
when — 


was unanimously elected President, and — 





T. CEOFTON CEOKEE, ESQ., F.S.A., M.E.I.A., Treas. 




J. 0. HALLIWELL, ESQ., F.E.S., F.S.A., Secretary. 







were unanimously elected as the Council for the 
ensuing year. 
It was then — 

Resolved, That the thanks of the Society be given to 
the Treasurer and Secretary for their services 
during the past year ; and that the special thanks 

of the Society be given to Mr. Wright, for the 
great services he has rendered to the Society by 
his attention to its interests during the several 
years he has held the office of Treasurer. 

Resolved, That the thanks of the Society be given to 
the Editors of the Publications during the past 

Resolved, That the thanks of the Society be given 
to the Royal Society of Literature for the use of 
their Rooms on the present occasion. 

Resolved, That the thanks of the Society be returned 
to the President for the warm interest taken by 
him in the proceedings of the Society, and for his 
kind and able conduct in the Chair. 



May 9th, 1h5L 

In submitting the Eleventh Annual Report to the 
Members of the Percy Society, the Council are 
happy to congratulate them on the continued 
efficiency of the Society, and the interest taken in 

its publications. The last two years have mate- 
rially aifected most institutions of a similar nature ; 
but the number of our Members has very slightly 
decreased during that period ; and although the 
limited income of the Society prevents the Coun- 
cil, with any regard to prudence, from issuing 
many volumes requiring a large outlay, yet they 
see no reason for doubting their being able to 
continue the average issues of past years. The 
Council have no hesitation in asserting, that the 
greatest possible economy has been exercised in 
every department of the management of the 
Society, and that as much is returned to the 
jNIembers as can be acconij^lished with the funds 
placed at their disposal. 

The Council have much pleasure in having 
been enabled to issue the last and concluding 
volume of Mr. Wright's edition of Chaucer, a work 
of great value, in which a philologically accurate 
text of the tales of that great poet has, for the 
first time, been made accessible to the student. 

Amongst the works now in progress, the Coun- 
cil would mention a highly interesting production, 
an unpublished portion of Browne's Britannia's 
Pastorals, the MS. of which was vmknown to all 
the editors of that poet. It is now preparing for 
the press under the editorship of Mr. Cr often 

The council have to regret the loss, durmg the 
past year, of then* respected friend and coadjutor, 
Mr. Amyot, whose zeal at the formation of the 
Society contributed so largely to its successful 

The publications during the past year have 
been : — 

1 . An Anglo-Saxon Passion of St. George. From a MS. 

in the Cambridge University Library. Edited by 
the Rev. C. Hardwick, M.A. 

2. The Loyal Garland : a Collection of Songs of the 

seventeenth century Edited by J. 0. HalliAvell, Esq. 

3. Poems and Songs relating to George Villiers, Duke of 

Buckingham, and his Assassination by John Felton, 
Edited, with an Introduction, by F. W. Fairholt, Esq, 

4. The Canterbury Tales of Geoffrey Chaucer, volume 

the third. Edited by Thomas Wright, Esq. 

5. The Garland of Good- Will. By Thomas Deloney. 

Edited by James Henry Dixon, Esq. 

The following works are preparing for publica- 
tion, or have been suggested to the Council for 
that purpose : — 

1. A Selection from the Roxburghe Ballads in the 

British Museum. To be edited by J. H. Dixon, Esq. 

2. The early Poem of John the Gardener, a Metrical 

Treatise on Domestic Gardening in the fourteenth 
century. To be Edited by T. Crofton Croker, Esq., 
F.S.A., M.R.S.A. 

3. The Poems of Hoccleve. To be edited by W. H. 

Black, Esq. 

4. An Edition of Hey wood's " Dialogue, contayning in 

effect the numlier of al the Provcrbes in the English 
Tongue compact in a matter concerning two mar- 
riages." By B. Corney, Esq. 


5. A Collection of Ballads, in old French and English, 

relating to Cocaygne. To be edited by T. Wright, Esq. 

6. A Collection of Charms, illustrative of English super- 

stitions in former days. From early manuscripts. 

7. " Rede me and benott wrothe." A Satire on Cardinal 

Wolsey, by William Roy. 

8. The Minor Poems of Drayton. To be edited by Bolton 

Corney, Esq. 

9. A Collection of Ballads and Miscellaneous Pieces col- 

lected from the Public Records. By W. H. Black, Esq. 

10. The Small Metrical Chronicle History of England, 
printed by Wynkyn de Worde. To be edited by 
W. H. Black, Esq. 

The Council may be allowed to repeat the in- 
vitation made in its former Reports to Mem- 
bers of the Society and others to suggest new 
works for consideration. The Society is obliged 
to all gentlemen who may contribute rare tracts 
or ballads from private collections ; as well as to 
the different editors, by whose zeal and gratuitous 
labours they may be ushered into the world. 

BRAYBROOKE, President. 
J. O. HALLIWELL, Secretary. 






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26th FEBRUARY, 1852. 

A Special General Meeting of the Society was held 
on the 26th February, at No. 37, Great Queen Street, 
circulars convening the same having been sent to all 
Members who were not in arrear beyond the current 
year, and an advertisement having been inserted in 
the Times newspaper. 


In the Chair. 

At this Meeting, twenty-three Members of the 
Society were present. 

The Treasurer read a Report of the financial con- 
dition of the Society, which included all information 
resjDecting its present condition. 

It was Resolved, " that the Treasurer's Report be 

Mr. Black having read to the Meeting copious 
extracts from the minutes of Council, which exhibited 
the earnest attention that had been paid to the state of 

the Society, it was Resolved, " That considering the 
present circumstances of the Percy Society, it is ex- 
j)edient that this Society be dissolved at the close of 
the current year, and that the books which remain in 
hand be divided amongst those Members then not in 
arrear of their Subscriptions, so far as the stock will 
allow, and with advantage of priority in proportion to 
the period of Subscription." 

It was then unanimously Resolved, " That it be 
referred to the Council to carry the above Resolution 
into effect, and to make any further arrangements they 
may consider necessary in winding up the affairs of 
the Society." 

It was unanimously Resolved, ^' That thanks be 
returned to the President and Council for their 

Thanks were unanimously voted to Mr. Prior, as 
Chairman, and the Meeting then separated. 






1. Collection of Ballads Anterior to the Reign of 
Charles I. 

Edited by J. Payne Collier, Esq., F.S.A. 

2. A Search for Money ; 

Or the lamentable Complaint for the losse of the wandriug Knight 
Monsieur I'Argent. Edited by J. Payne Collier, Esq., F.S.A. 

S. The Payne and Sorowe of Evyll Maryage, 

In verse. Edited by J. Payne Collier, Esq., F.S.A. 

4. A Selection from the Minor Poems of Dan John 

Edited by James Orchard Halliwell, Esq., F.R.S. 

5. The King and a Poore Northerne Man. 

1640. Edited by J. Payne Collier, Esq., F.S.A. 

6. The Revolution in Ireland of 1688. 

Illustrated by the popular Ballads of the period. Edited, with Introduc- 
tions and Notes, by T. Crofton Croker, Esq., F.S.A., M.R.I.A. 

7. Songs of the London Prentices and Trades, 

Dm-iug the Reigns of Henry XIU, Elizabeth, and James I. Edited by 
C. Mackay, Esq. 

8. The Early Naval Ballads of England. 

Edited by James Orchard Halliwell, Esq., F.R.S. 

9. Robin Good-Fellow ; his Mad Pranks and 
Merry Jests. 

In prose and verse. 1628. With an Introduction by J. Payne Collier, Esq., 

10. Strange Histories, or Songs and Sonets of 
Kings, etc. 

With an Introduction and Notes by J. Pajaie Collier, Esq., F.S.A. 

11. Political Ballads Published during the Common- 

With an Introduction and Notes by Thomas Wright, Esq., M.A., F.S.A. 

12. The Pleasant History of the Two Angry Women 
of Abington. 

Written by Heniy Porter. 1599. Edited by the Rev. A. Dyce. 

13. The Boke of Curtasye ; 

An English Poem illustrative of the Domestic Manners of the fifteenth 
century. Edited by J. O. Halliwell, Esq., F.K.S. 

14. Kind-Hart's Dream. 

Containing Notices of Shakespeare, Nash, etc. A curious picture of the 
Manners and Customs of the time. Edited by E. F. Rimbault, Esq., F.S.A. 

15. The Meeting of Gallants at an Ordinarie. 

Or the Walkes in Powles. lr>04. Illustrative of the Manners and Customs 
of the time. Edited by J. O. Halliwell, Esq., F.ll.S. 

16. Old Christmas Carols, 

Chiefly taken from manuscript sources. Edited bv Thomas Wright, Esq., 
M.A., F.S.A. 

17. The Nursery Rhymes of England, 

Arranged in Classes, with an Historical Introduction. Edited by J. O. 
Halliwell, Esq. 

18. The Pleasant and Sweet History of Patient 

In prose and verse. With an Introduction concerning the origin of the 
storj', and its application in various countries. Edited by J. Payne 
Collier, Esq., F.S.A. 

19. Lyric Poetry Written in England during the 
Peign of EdAvard I. 

Edited by T. Wright, Esq., M.A., F.S.A. 

20. A Marriage Triumphe. 

An Epithalamium in memorie of the Nuptials betwixt the Count Palatine 
and the Lady Elizabeth. Written by T. Heywood, 1C13. Edited bv J. 
Payne Collier, Esq., F.S.A. 

21. A Knight's Conjuring, Done in Earnest, Dis- 
covered in Jest. 

CoiiUiiiiing numerous allusions to Mnniiers and Customs in London. 13t 
Thomas Dekker, 1007. Edited by Edward F. Kimljault, Esq., F.S.A. 

22. Paraphrase on the Seven Penitential Psalms, 

In English Metre of the lifteenth century; presumed to be the production 
of a Lollard. Edited by W. H. Black, Esq. 

2S. The Crowne-Garland of Goulden Roses. 

A Collection of Songs and Ballads, chiefly historical. Edited by W. 
Chappell, Esq., F.S.A. 

24. A Dialogue of Witches and -Witchcraft. 

By George Gifford, 1C03. Edited by T. Wright, P^sq., M.A., F.S.A. A 
curious illustration of the populai- superstitious of the latter part of the 
sixteenth century, 

25. FoUie's Anatomic ; 

Or Satyres and Satj'ricall Epigrams, by Henry TTutton, of Durham, 1G19. 
Containing curious allusions to Paris Gai'deu, Theatres, etc. 

26. Jack of Dover. 

A Collection of Tales, and " The Penniless Parliament of Thread-bare 
Poets, or all Mirth and Wittie Couceites," 1001. 

27. Five Poetical Tracts of the Sixteenth Century. 

From unique copies, viz., " The Doctrynall of Good Servauntes." " The 
Bokc of ^Mayd Emlyn." " The New Notborune Mayd " " A Complaint of ii 
Dolorous Lover upon Sugred Wordes and Fayned Countenance." And 
" Loves Leprosie." Edited by E. F. Kimbault, Esq. 

28. A Collection of Latin Stories, 

Illustrative of the History of Fiction during the Middle Ages. From 
MSS. of the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Centuries. Edited by T. Wright, 
Esq., M.A., F.S.A. 

29. The Harmonic of the Church, 

By Michael Drayton, Edited by the Rev. Alexander Dyce. 

30. Cock Lorell's Bote. 

A Satirical Poem from an unique copy printed by Wynkyu do Wordo. 

31. Poems by Sir Henry Wotton. 

Edited by ttie llev. Alexander Dyce. 

32. The Harmony of Birds. 

A Poem, from the only known copy, printed in the middle of liie Sixteen I' 
Century. Edited by J. P. Collier, Esq., F.S.A. 

33. A Kerry Pastoral. 

An imitation of the First Eclogue of Virgil. Edited bv T. Crofton Croker, 
Esq., F.S.A. 

34. The Four Knaves. 

A Series of Satirical Tracts, in verse, by Samuel Howlands. 

35. A Poem to the Memorie of Congreve, by James 

Edited by Peter Cunningham, Esq. 

36. The Pleasant Conceites of Old Hobson, the 
Merry Londoner. 

1607. Edited by J. O. Halliwell, Esq., F.B.S., F.S.A. 

37. Maroccus Extaticus ; or Bankes' Bay Horse in 
a Trance. 

1597. Edited by Edward F. Eimbault, Esq., LL.D., F.S.A. 

38. Lord Mayors' Pageants, Part I : 

Being Collections towards a History of these annual celebrations. Part 
I. By F. W. Fairholt, Esq., F.S.A. 

39. The Owl and the Nightingale, 

An early English Poem. Edited by Thomas "Wright, Esq., M.A., F.S.A. 

40. Thirteen Psalms and the First Chapter of 

Translated into English verse in the Eeign of Henry VIII, Edited by 
the Eev. P. Bliss. 

4L An Historian Expostulation 

Against the Beastlve Abusers, both of Chyrurgerie and Physyke, in cure 
tj-me. By John Halle, 15G5, Edited by T. J. Pettigrew, Esq., F.R.S., F.S.A. 

42. Old Ballads Illustrating the Great Frost of 

And the Fair on the River Thames, Edited by E, F. Eimbault, Esq., LL.D. 

43. Lord Mayors' Pageants, Part 11. 

Edited by F. W. Fairholt, Esq., F.S.A. 

44. The Honestie of this Age. 

By Barnaby Eich, 1611. Edited by Peter Cunningham, Esq. 

45. Peynard the Fox, 

From Caxton's Edition. Edited by "W. J. Thoms, Esq., F.S.A. 

46. The Keen of the South of L-eland, 

As illustrative of Irish Political and Domestic Histoiy, Manners, Music, 
and Superstitions. Collected by T, Crofton Croker, Esq. 

47. The Poems of John Audelay. 

A specimen of the Shropshire Dialect in the Fifteenth Centixry. Edited 
by J. O. HalUwell, Esq. 

48. St. Brandan, a Medieval Legend of the Sea. 

In EngUsh Terse and Prose. Edited by Thomas Wright, Esq., M.A., 

49. The Eomance of the Emperor Octavian. 

Now first published from MSS, at Lincoln and Cambridge. Edited by 
J, 0. Halliwell, Esq. 

50. Six Ballads, with Burdens : 

From MSS. in the Libraa-y of Corpus Christi College, Cambridge. Edited 
by J. Goodwin, B.D. 

51. Lyrical Poems, 

Selected from Musical Publications between the Tears 1589 and 1600. 
Edited by J. Payne Collier, Esq., F.S.A. 

52. Friar Bakon's Prophesie : 

A Satire on the Degeneracy of the Times, a.d. 1604. Edited by J. O. 
Halliwell, Esq. 

53. The Seven Sages. 

In English Verse. Edited from a Manuscript in the Public Library of 
the University of Cambridge. By Thomas Wright, Esq., M.A., F.S.A. 

54. Popular Songs, 

Illustrative of the French Invasions of Ireland. Edited by T, Crofton 
Croker, Esq. 

55. Poetical Miscellanies. 

From a Manuscript Collection of the time of James I. Edited by J. 0. 
Halliwell, Esq. 

56. The Crown Garland of Golden Koses. Part II. 

From the Editon of 1659. 

57. Barnfield's Affectionate Shepherd. 

Eeprinted from the almost unique copy in Sion College library. By 
J. O. Halliwell, Esq. 

58. Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads. 

Edited by James H. Dixon, Esq. 

59. Life and Mart5rrdom of Thomas Becket, Archb. 
of Canterbury. 

Edited by William Henry Black, Esq. 

60. The Pastime of Pleasure. 

An Allegorical Poem. By Stephen Hawes. 


61. The Civic Garland. 

A Collectiou of Sougs from London Pageants. Edited by F. W. Falrholt, 
Esq., F.S.A. 

62. Old Poems, Ballads, and Songs of the Peasantry 
of England . 

Edited by J. H. Dixon, Esq. 

63. The Romance of Syr Tryamoure. 

Edited by J. 0. Halliwell, Esq., F.R.S., F.S.A. 

64. The Introductory Essay on the Romance of the 
Seven Sages. 

By Tliomas Wriglit, Esq., M.A., F.S.A. 

65. A Dialogue of Wit and Folly. 

By John Heywood. Now first printed. To -which is prefixed an account 
of that Author, and his Dramatic Works, by F. W. Falrholt, Esq., F.S.A. 

66. A Collection of Proverbs and Popular Sayings, 

Eelating to the Season, the ^Yeather, and Agricultm'al Pm-suits. By 
M. A. Denham. 

67. Popular Songs, 

Illustrative of the French Invasions of Ireland. Part II. Edited with 
Introductions and Notes, by T. Crofton Croker, Esq. 

6S. The Canterbury Tales of GeofFry Chaucer. 

A new Text, with Illustrative Notes. Vol. I. Edited by T. "Wright, Esq. 
M.A., F.S.A. 

69. The Most Pleasant Song of Lady Bessy ; 

And how she Married King Henry the Seventh of the House of Lancaster. 
Edited by J. O. Halliwell, Esq. 

70. French Invasions of Ireland. 

Edited by T. Croftou Croker, Esq. 

71. The Cytezen and Uplondyshman. 

By Alexander Barclay. Edited by F. W. Fairholt, Esq. 

72. The Canterbury Tales of Chaucer. 

Vol. II. Edited by T. Wright, Esq. 

73. Songs and Carols of the Fifteenth Century. 

Printed for the first time. Edited by T. Wright, Esq. 

74. An Interlude of the Four Elements. 

Edited by J. O. Halliwell, Esq. 

75. Interlude of the Disobedient Child. 

Edited by J. O. Halliwell, Esq. 


76. The Autobiogra2)hy of Mary, Countess of 

Edited by T. C. Croker, Esq. 

77. Festive Songs of the Sixteenth and Seventeenth 

Edited by W. Sandys, Esq., F.S.A. 

78. Westward for Smelts. 

"Written by Kiude Kit of Kingstoue, 1G20. An early and curious collection 
of tales, several of which have been employed by our early dramatists in 
the construction of their plots. Edited by J. 0. Halliwell, Esq. 

79. Popular English Histories. 

Edited by J. O. Halliwell, Esq. 

80. Beleeve as you List, 

A lost play, by Massinger. Edited from the original manuscript by 
Thomas Croftou Croker, Esq., F.S.A., M.R.I.A. 

81. Satirical Songs and Poems on Costume : 

From the Thirteenth to the Nineteenth Century. Edited bv F. W. 
P'airholt, Esq., F.S.A. 

82. A Poem on the Times of Edward II, 

From a MS. presei-ved in the Library of St. Peter's College, Cambridge, 
Edited by the Kev. C. Hardwick, M.A. 

83. Notices of Fugitive Tracts and Chap-Books 

Printed at Aldennaiy Churchyard, Bow Churchvard, etc. By James 
O. Halliwell, Esq., F.H.S. 

84. The Man in the Moone ; 

Or, The English Fortune Teller. From the unique copy, printed in 1609, 
presei-ved in the Bodleian Library. Edited by J. O. Halliwell, Esq. 

85. The Religious Poems of William de Shoreham, 

Vicar of Chart-Sutton, in Kent, in the reign of Edward II. Preserved in 
a contemporary manuscript. Edited by T. Wright, Esq., M.A., F.S.A. 

86. The Interlude of the Trial of Treasure, 

Eeprinted from the black-letter edition by Thomas Purfoote, 1.597. 
Edited by J. O. Halliwell, Esq., F.R S., F.S.A. 

87. A Manifest Detection of the Most Vyle and 

Detestable Use of Dice Play. 

Edited by J. O. Halliwell, Esq., F.R.S., F.S.A. 

88. An Anglo-Saxon Passion of St. George. 

From a MS. in the Cambridge University Library. Edited, with a 
Translation, by the Rev. C. Hardwick, M.A. 


89. The Loyal Garland : 

A CoUeotiou of Sougs of the Seveuteeuth Century, reprinted from a 
black-letter copy supposeil to be unique. Edited by J. 0. Halliwell, Esq. 

90. Poems and Songs Relating to George Villiers, 
Duke of Buckingham ; 

And his Assassination by John Felton, August 23, 1628. Edited, with an 
Introduction and Notes, by F. W. Fairholt, Esq., F.S.A. 

91. The Canterbiuy Tales of Geoffiy Chaucer. 

A New Test, witl; Illustrative Notes. Edited by Thomas ■Wright, Esq. 

92. The Garland of Good- Will, 

By Thomas Delouey. Edited by J. H. Dixon, Esq. 

93. Britannia's Pastorals : a Thii-d Book. 

Now tirst Edited from the original MS. preserved in the Librai7 of Sails- 
buiy Cathedral. By T. C. Croker, Esq., F.S.A. 

94. John Bon and Mast Person; a Dialogue in \^erse. 

Edited, from the Black-letter edition, by W. H. Black, Eso. 

r. RrcH.\Ri>s. 37. great qveen strekt. 

89. The Loyal Garland : 

A Cullectiou of Songs of the Seveuteeuth Century, reprinted from a 
black-letter copy supposed to be unique. Edited by J. O. Halliwell, Esq. 

90. Poems and Songs Relating to George Villiers, 
Duke of Buckingham ; 

And his Assassination by John Felton, August 23, 1628. Edited, with an 
Introduction and Notes, by F. W. Fairholt, Esq., F.S.A. 

91. The Canterbury Tales of Geofiry Chaucer. 

A New Text, vrith, Illustrative Notes. Edited by Thomas Wright, Esq. 

92. The Garland of Good- Will, 

By Thomas Deloney. Edited by J. H. Dixon, Esq. 

93. Britannia's Pastorals : a Third Book. 

Now first Edited from the original MS. presei'ved in the Librai^ of Salis- 
bury Cathedral. By T. C. Croker, Esq., F.S.A. 

94. John Bon and Mast Person ; a Dialogue in \'^erse. 

Edited, from the Black-letter edition, by W. H. Black, Esq. 


PR Percy Society 

1121 Early English poetry